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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

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http://www.archive.org/details/cornellversevoluOOIyonrich 


A  WELLS  VERSION 


Wr\at  if  your  r\an\e  is  Malor^ey? 

Wt\at  if  you're  r\ot  a  dead  s^ell? 
Tr\e  girls  of  our  Mater  -Will  rusl\  you, 

If  your  brother  goes  to  Corriell. 

L.  C.  W.— Wells  '99. 


£ 
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CORNELL  VERSE 


A  volume  of  selected  poems,  written  by  the  students  of 

Cornell  University 


Compiled  by 


Henry  adelbert  Lyon 


Press 

HISTORICAL   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 

Philadelphia 


Copyright,  1897,  by  H.  A.  LYON 


HENRY  MORSE  STEPHEN* 


DEDICATED  TO  THE 
VICTORIOUS  CORNELL  CREWS 


514671 


PREFACE 


CHIS  little  volume  is  offered  to  the  public  without 
any  apology  or  excuse  for  its  existence  ;  the 
main  object  being  that  of  preserving,  in  some  convenient 
form,  the  many  bits  of  rhyme  which  have  helped  to 
divert  the  thoughts  of  the  student  during  the  leisure 
hours  when  not  engaged  in  heavier  work.  Its  merits 
rest  upon  the  fact  that  it  represents  more  truly  than 
anything  else  can,  the  love  that  a  sense  of  a  higher 
education  imparts  to  student  life. 

As  the  poems  were  all  written  by  Cornellians,  I 
trust  that  the  love  for  Cornell  University,  with  all  of  its 
hallowed  associations  and  pleasant  memories,  will  make 
the  hearts  of  those  who  have  left  their  Alma  Mater 
warm  up  over  the  happy  recollections  of  the  past  so 
tacitly  brought  before  them,  and  that  the  undergraduates 
may  be  inspired  to  invoke  the  muse  still  further  to  help 
them  sing  of  the  glories  of  Cornell. 

Those  who  have  left  their  Alma  Mater  will,  I  feel, 
turn  aside  with  pleasure  from  the  cares  of  business,  to 


read  some  of  these  verses,  and  the  love  for  the  careless, 
happy  life  spent  at  College  will  come  back  again  with  a 
flood  of  joyous  memories. 

I  am  indebted  to  many  for  the  kind  assistance 
they  have  given  me  in  making  this  collection,  and  I  trust 
that  my  gratitude  may  not  be  overlooked,  although  left 
as  a  closing  thought  to  this  brief  preface. 

Henry  Adelbert  Lyon. 
Westfteld,  N.  Y.,  June,  1897. 


INDEX. 


Page 

After  the  Ball ••«•..    75 

Alma  Mater  -  College  Song 117 

Alma  Mater— Carm.  Cornell 15 

Alas! ....  158 

Also  in  the  Morning  and  Evening 158 

Alumni  Song 78 

Arbutus 115 

At  Midnight  Sat  We  Three  Fishers 25 

At  Night 151 

At  the  Armory c    ....    43 

At  the  Gate 134 

At  Vespers 63 

Art  at  Cornell 135 

Autumn    .    .    .    .    ; 118 

Ballad  of  Deadhead  Hill 107 

Ballad  of  Spring 55 

Bargain,  The 148 

Blossom,  The 34 

Boating  Song      54 

Broken  Up    .... 156 

Castle  Building 102 

Chimes  of  Cornell,  The 50 

Cloudland 104 

College  Rowing  Song,  A 81 

College  Heroes 75 

Comfort , 24 

Coming  of  Gitchekwasind,  The    ..........    94 

Comparison,  A    ...................    23 

(9) 


io  CORNELL   VERSE 

Page 

Conditioned 46 

Consecration  of  the  Beautiful,  The 38 

Constant  Heart,  A 60 

Cornell — Carm.  Cornell .    .     15 

Cornell  Chimes,  The 56 

Cornellschmertz 48 

Cornell  Uniform,  The 129 

Crew  Song 116 

Daisies 103 

Dawn 126 

Difference,  A ,119 

Different 74 

Dilemma,  A *        59 

Disappointment 160 

Dreamer  of  Dreams,  A     .    .    , 22 

Dream  On 24 

Drill 136 

Encore,  An 66 

Evening  Song — Carm.  Cornell .16 

Failure 155 

Fair  but  False 110 

Fair  Cornellian,  A 138 

Fallen  Leaves      150 

"  Far  Above  Cayuga's  Waters" .    ....  113 

Far  Away  Love 34 

Farewell 142 

Football  Requisites 45 

Found!  On  the  Campus 108 

Game  of  Life,  The .    .  120 

Golf  on  Cascadilla  Field 159 

Good  Eye .««**.   to   «,   .    «.    <.   ■>   ,  160 


INDEX.  ii 

Page 

Good  Example,  A 58 

Good-Night 37 

"He  Who  Hesitates— !" .....    58 

His  Privilege       58 

History  as  She  is  Criticised 36 

Homeward 68 

Hope 20 

Idyll,  An 55 

Idyll,  An 72 

In  Junior  Year 82 

In  Summer  Time  at  Ithaca 131 

In  the  Library ,  107 

Ithaca  Girl,  The .    .  153 

Jims,   The 91 

Last  Sweet  Glimpse,  The 118 

Learning  French 20 

Logical  Courtship,  A 44 

Love's  Disguise 35 

Love's  Hypnotism 133 

Love's  Recompense 69 

Lover's  Serenade,  A 67 

Luke,  the  Puritan .    41 

Minstrel's  Curse,  The , 121 

Mixed 159 

Model  Student,  The 48 

Modern  Version,  The 158 

My  Landlady's  Bill 152 

My  Love 32 

My  True  Love 46 

Mye  Valentyne ....    79 

Mystery  Solved,  The     . .    •    .    .    53 


12  CORNELL   VERSE. 

Page 

Naturally      ......  154 

New  Way  to  Put  it,  A 64 

Oblivion's  Gate .    .    86 

Ode  to  Cornell  University 28 

On  a  Bust  of  A.  D.  W 42 

On  the  "  Intimations  of  Immortality  "  .    .        .    .    .    ,    64 

On  the  River    .        32 

On  the  Shore  at  Night      109 

Our  End 105 

Out  of  Sight 154 

Oxalis,  The .    .    57 

Passion 77 

Pinning  His  Faith 128 

Pulpit  Rock     .    . 33 

Purgatory  vs.  Drill 72 

Purple  Blossoms , 88 

Queries 134 

Query 156 

Quite  Possible 87 

Race,  The 102 

Rather 157 

Reflections 70 

Registrar,  The 90 

Regret 154 

Rejoicing      74 

Repartee 125 

Return,  The 146 

Reverie      ...  76 

Ringing  of  the  Chimes,  The 100 


INDEX.  13 

Page 

"Said  a  Man  Who  Was  Doing  Cornell" 153 

"Said  an  Innocent  Looking  Veal  II  " 156 

"Said  the  Turkey  to  the  Spoon  " 156 

Sensational  Reporter,  The      in 

Serenade 59 

Shadow  and  Sunshine 130 

Shakespearian 125 

Shattered  Hopes 130 

She  Fooled  Him 115 

She  Knew  the  Grip 139 

Snowflake,  A 41 

Society 73 

"Somebody"  .    .    . 84 

Song  She  Used  to  Sing,  The .  128 

Sonnet 40 

Sophomore  at  the  Bridge,  The    „ 142 

Spirit  of  the  Chimes,  The in 

Spring        .        154 

Stars  of  the  Valley .    .    .    .    .     19 

Strange,  but  True 157 

Student,  The 106 

Student's  Toil,  A 112 

Sunday 50 

Sunset , 63 

Surplus,  The 38 

Sweet  Chimes  of  Cornell 145 

Table  D'Hote 158 

"Tell  Me,  Maiden" 147 

That  Last  Sweet  Night 129 

That  Locker  Combination 79 

That  Voice .    .   .   *   . 47 


I4  CORNELL   VERSE. 

Page 

Three  Triolets 85 

'Tis  Policy,  You  Know     ....... .  140 

To  a  Brunette 126 

To  a  Carnation ,    .    . 53 

To  a  Dead  Bird 61 

To  a  Picture ...    87 

To  a  Rose 114 

To  Helen 21 

To  My  Landlady 152 

To  My  Pipe "3 

To  My  Valentine 127 

To  the  Rain 101 

'Twas  Lent -    •    •  *37 

Twilight 31 

Vacation  Idyll,  A  .    . 17 

Vespertine •    •    •   ■•    •    »  •  io9 

"  Victorious  Spolia  Sunt " 71 

Waiting 94 

Watching 65 

Weaker  Sex,  The J37 

When  Evening  Falls    . 71 

When  Morning  Breaks 65 

Which  is  It  ? J9 

Who  is  She  ? 79 

Why  is  It  ? 90 

Widow,  The .  88 

Within  the  Valley 83 

Woman T44 

Word  of  Advice,  A .  140 

AM  ENDE. 


CORNELL  VERSE. 


ALMA  MATER. 
Carm.   Cornell. 
CAR  above  Cayuga's  waters, 

With  its  waves  of  blue, 
Stands  our  noble  Alma  Mater 
Glorious  to  view. 

Chorus: 
Lift  the  Chorus,  speed  it  onward, 

Loud  her  praises  tell, 
Hail  to  thee,  our  Alma  Mater  ! 

Hail,  all  hail,  Cornell  ! 

Far  above  the  busy  humming 

Of  the  bustling  town, 
Reared  against  the  arch  of  Heaven 

Looks  she  proudly  down. 


CORNELL. 
Carm.   Cornell. 
TTHE  soldier  loves  his  general's  fame, 

The  willow  loves  the  stream, 
The  child  will  love  its  mother's  name, 
The  dreamer  loves  his  dream; 
(15) 


1 6  CORNELL    VERSE. 

The  sailor  loves  his  haven's  pier, 

The  shadow  loves  the  dell; 
The  student  holds  no  name  so  dear 
As  thy  good  name,  Cornell. 
Chorus: 
We'll  honor  thee,  Cornell, 
We'll  honor  thee,  Cornell, 
While  breezes  blow 
Or  waters  flow, 
We'll  honor  thee,  Cornell. 

The  soldier  with  his  sword  of  might 

In  blood  may  write  his  fame, 
The  prince  in  marble  columns  white 

May  deeply  grave  his  name; 
But  graven  on  each  student  heart 

There  shall  unsullied  dwell 
While  of  this  world  they  are  a  part 

Thy  own  good  name,  Cornell. 


EVENING  SONG. 
Carm.   Cornell. 
"\X7HEN  the  sun  fades  far  away, 
In  the  crimson  of  the  west, 
And  the  voices  of  the  day 

Murmur  low  and  sink  to  rest. 

Chorus: 
Music  with  the  twilight  falls 

O'er  the  dreaming  lake  and  dell; 
'Tis  an  echo  from  the  walls 

Of  our  own,  our  fair  Cornell. 


A   VACATION  IDYLL.  17 

Life  is  joyous  when  the  hours 

Move  in  melody  along, 
All  its  happiness  is  ours 

While  we  join  the  vesper  song. 

Welcome  night,  and  welcome  rest, 

Fading  music,  fare  thee  well; 
Joy  to  all  we  love  the  best, — 

Love  to  thee,  our  fair  Cornell ! 


A  VACATION  IDYLL. 

4  4  '"THOUGH  tangled  and  twisted  the  course  of  true  love, 
This  ditty  explains, 
No  tangles  so  tangled  it  cannot  improve, 
If  the  lover  has  brains." 

The  broad  hotel  piazza  was  deserted  then  and  bare, 
Save  for  a  man  and  maiden;   he  reclining  in  a  chair, 
She  lying  in  a  hammock,  as  we  often  maidens  see, 
While  they  chat  of  gowns  and  parties,  or  of  yachting  or 

of  sea. 
She  had  questioned  him  of  college;  he  had  told  her  tales 

a  score  — 
"What  a   pretty  pin,"  she  told  him;  adding,  laughing, 

"  did  he  dare 
Lend  to  her   the  little  emblem,   as  her  own  a  while  to 

wear  ? ' ' 

11 1  cannot,"  he  protested;    "  it  would  never  do,  because 
The  transfer  is  forbidden  by  the  frat's  unwritten  laws. 
No,  I  alone  must  wear  the  pin  and  cherish  it  through  life; 
No  girl — oh,  well,  unless  the  one  who  is  to  be  my  wife." 


18  CORNELL   VERSE. 

A  moment's  pause;   the  maiden  changed  the  subject  with 

a  smile, 
And  chatted  on  entrancingly — and  he,  poor  man,  the  while 
Was   losing  all  his  peace  of  mind,  while  she,  to  tell  the 

truth, 
Was  equally  delighted  with  this  dashing  handsome  youth. 

A  casual  observer  might  have  noticed  from  that  day 
Whenever  she  went  walking,  he  always  went  her  way; 
They  had  frequent  rides  together,  nor  was  she  ever  caught 
At  any  time  out  sailing  in  another  fellow's  yacht. 
They  danced  the  lively  two-step  as  the  music  rose  and 

fell; 
They  swung    through  mazy  waltzes,  during  which  they 

seemed  to  dwell 
In  a  sphere  above  us  mortals,  and  the  subtle  summer  air 
Cast  a  spell  upon  their  pulses— cast  our  hero  in  despair. 

Did  she  know  how  much  he  loved  her?    Gladly  had  he 

wished  it  so, 
But  greatly  feared  to  ask  her,  feared  that  fatal  "  Yes  "  or 

"No." 
It  was  over;    she  was  going;    they  were  parting;    yet  he 

found 
Of  the  words  he  meant  to  tell  her  he  could  utter  not  a 

sound. 
On  the  broad  hotel  piazza  fell  a'sudden  bright  moonbeam, 
Cast  its  light  on  man  and  maiden;    on  the  badge  it  cast  a 

gleam. 
He  simply  clasped  it  on  her  gown;    the  maiden  under- 
stood— 
And  then  the  moon  withdrew  its  face— and  why  should 

we  intrude  ?  —  Theos. 


WHICH  IS  IT?  i9  . 


STARS  OF  THE  VALLEY. 

AX/HEN  the  shadows  shroud  the  hillsides, 

And  the  stars  glow  in  the  blue, 
When  the  night  wind  o'er  Cayuga 

Breathes  its  tale  of  love  anew; 
When  there's  silence  deep  and  tender, 

Save  wThen  chimes  the  even  bell, 
Sending  far  o'er  vale  and  wavelet 

Gentle  greetings  from  Cornell; 
Then  upon  the  valley's  bosom 

Gleam  a  thousand  gems  of  light, 
Mild  and  clear  their  radiance  stealing 

Thro'  the  chambers  of  the  night. 
Brighter  they  than  heaven's  jewels, 

Deeper  sinks  their  beams'  bright  dart 
For  they  shine  from  Love's  dear  hearthstones 

Straight  into  the  exile's  heart. 

— Oreola  Williams. 


WHICH  IS  IT? 


H 


E  takes  his  Sunday  tea  at  Sage, 
He  spends  his  evenings  there; 
He  bends  above  the  music  page 

And  sings  the  sacred  air. 
Although  they  say  he  likes  the  hymns, 

One  naturally  infers, 
Perhaps  he  goes  to  hear  the  hims, 
More  like  to  see  the  hers. 

— Anon. 


CORNELL   VERSE. 


LEARNING  FRENCH. 

T   ROLL  my  r's 
To  beat  the  cars, 
And  twist  the  diphthongs  round; 

The  nasals  squeak, 

I  howl  and  shriek 
With  strange  bacterian  sound. 

But  still  I  fear 

I  soon  shall  hear 
My  dear  instructor  say: 

"  Oh,  Nom  de  Dieu, 

Ah,  what  to  do? 
You  nevarie  learns  Francais." 

— Anon. 


HOPE. 

*THE  day  has  been  a  fair  one 
*      And  the  sky  was  clear  and  bright 
And  I'd  wandered  through  the  mead-lands 
In  the  morn  with  pure  delight. 

As  the  sun  rose  high  and  higher 

'Came  its  influence  strong  and  sweet, 

And  stronger  pressed  it  on  me; 
Made  me  happy  in  its  heat. 

Through  the  whole  day  long  it  cheer'd  me 

Shining  warm  and  soft  above, 
Though  above  me, — yet  'twas  with  me, 

Made  me  happy  in  my  love. 


TO  HELEN. 

But  now,  behind  the  hill-tops, 

It  hides  its  face  away, 
And  the  storm  from  down  the  valley, 

Comes  and  drives  away  the  day. 

And  the  winds,  in  angry  tumult, 

Drive  up  clouds  that  black  the  skies 

And  the  pines  bend  low  in  moaning 
And  the  snow  in  flurries  flies. 

And  I  feel  chill  desolation 

Come  and  settle  o'er  my  heart — 

And  the  howling  winds  shriek  louder,- 
Ah  'tis  sorrowful  to  part. 

For  thou,  thou  mad'stthe  sunshine, 
Thou  caused  this  heart  to  glow, 

Yet  'tis  but  right,  our  parting; 
Ah  yes,  it  must  be  so. 

But  still  no  night  is  endless 

No  storm  can  rage  for  aye, 
And  I  long  and  hope  for  morning 

And  thy  face  to  grace  the  day. 


— D. 


TO  HELEN. 

MAIDEN  with  the  raven  hair, 

Something  I  would  fain  inquire; 
And  your  answer,  as  it  lies 
Graven  in  those  roguish  eyes, 
Comes  to  set  my  heart  on  fire, 
Or  else  drive  me  to  despair. 


CORNELL   VERSE. 

Ah  !  the  blushing  roses  fair 

In  your  cheek,  with  crimson  glow; 

High  with  hope  my  heart  doth  beat, 
As  your  answer,  low  and  sweet, 
Tells  me  what  I  wish  to  know: 
Leaves  my  life  without  a  care. 

— Oscar  H.  Fernback. 


A  DREAMER  OF  DREAMS. 

BALLADE. 

A    COAT  quite  ragged,  an  attic  bare, 
A  floor  sans  carpet,  and  ceiling  low, 

An  aged  table,  a  single  chair; 

The  flame  of  a  candle  blown  to  and  fro. — 
But  his  thoughts  are  back  in  the  long  ago, 

For  the  Muse  has  come,  on  her  snowy  wing, 
And  the  poet  lives  with  his  heart  aglow 

In  the  dream-land  realm  of  a  fairy  king. 

The  attic  roof  is  in  bad  repair, 

The  air  is  chill  with  the  falling  snow, 
And  never  a  coal  for  a  fire  is  there — 

How  he  longs  for  the  lands  where  the  swallows  go  !- 

But  a  patient  soul  is  the  poet,  so 
There's  a  song  whatever  the  days  may  bring, 

For  he  knows  that  flowers  celestial  blow 
In  the  dream-land  realm  of  a  fairy  king. 

Though  small  indeed  the  poet's  share 

Of  wealth  and  power  that  worldlings  know, 

He  never  yieldeth  to  grim  despair. 

His  coat  may  be  shabby  and  worn,  but  lo, 


A  COMPARISON.  23 

There  is  more  to  life  than  an  empty  show, 
And  his  voice  will  still  have  a  tender  ring, 

For  there's  joy  unknown  to  the  world  below 
In  the  dream-land  realm  of  a  fairy  king. 

1/ ENVOI. 
Ah,  Fame,  we  have  sorrows  thou  canst  not  know, 

And  reward  so  scant  for  the  men  who  sing, 
But  we've  laurels  brighter  than  fame  can  bestow 

In  the  dream-land  realm  of  a  fairy  king. 

— E.  A.  R. 

A  COMPARISON. 

Y\0  you  know  how  the  North  Wind  blows, 
As  it  sighs  through  the  leafless  boughs; 
And  whirls  the  leaves  as  the  farmer  sows 
His  seed  with  Heaven-turned  vows? 

Then  you  know  how  I  shiver  with  dread, 
When  the  clock  is  almost  at  the  hour; 

A  question  is  aimed  at  my  head, 

And  around  me  the  storm  clouds  lower. 

Do  you  know  how  the  South  Winds  blow, 

As  a  gentle  murmuring  rill; 
To  quiet  this  angry  world  below, 

With  a  silent  "  Peace,  be  still  ?  " 

Then  you  know  what  my  joy  is  like, 
When  the  master  commences  to  say, 

As  the  clock  just  begins  to  strike — 

"Mr.  M that  will  do  to-day." 

—  W.S.M. 


24  CORNELL   VERSE. 

DREAM  ON. 
PvREAM  on,  my  love,  in  slumber  sweet, 

While  here,  without,  I  soft  repeat 
That  gentle  music  of  thy  choice, 
Which  oft  I've  heard  in  thy  dear  voice. 

Dream  on,  while  there  above,  thy  star 
Sends  its  calm  rays  from  realms  afar 
To  light  the  watches  of  the  night, 
And  give  thy  lover  better  sight 
Of  this  window,  where  oft  he's  seen 
Thy  lovely  eyes,  my  pretty  queen. 

Dream  on,  and  may  thine  eyes  of  sleep 
Gaze  in  Love's  sacred  recess  deep 
Within  my  heart,  and  there  behold 
The  words  which  I  have  never  told, 
Except  by  glance,  except  by  deed, 
For  tongues  are  weak,  and  will  not  plead. 

Dream  on,  my  own,  and  from  thine  heart 
Let  not  Love's  sacred  message  part, 
For  God  has  placed  it  there  for  me  ! 
11 1  love,  I  love,  but  only  thee." 

— Norman  Hutchinson. 


COMFORT. 
\  A/HEN  the  world  seems  dark  and  dreary, 

And  my  life  is  full  of  grief, 
There  is  one  whose  voice  so  cheery 
Comes  to  bring  my  soul  relief. 


WE  THREE  FISHERS.  25 

As  the  sun  with  regal  splendor, 

Quick  dispels  the  gloom  of  night 
So  her  smile  of  love,  so  tender 

Makes  my  saddened  heart  grow  light. 

Laugh  away,  then,  world  unfeeling  ! 

Heedless  I,  from  trouble  free  ! 
Life  renewed  comes  o'er  me  stealing, 

There  is  one,  who  loveth  me. 

— Oscar  H.  Fernback. 


AT  MIDNIGHT  SAT  WE  THREE  FISHERS. 

A  T  midnight  sat  we  three  fishers, 

Tom,  and  old  Jones  and  I; 
Few  lights  there  were  in  the  village, 
Few  stars  in  the  cloudy  sky. 

Our  lines  still  swayed  in  the  water 
Though  the  fish  had  ceased  to  bite; 

We  puffed  at  our  pipes  in  silence 

And  dreamed  our  dreams  in  the  night. 

Tom  was  twenty,  and  I  was  twenty, 

And  Tom  and  I  were  in  love; 
But  not  old  Jones,  for  he  happened,  you  see, 

To  be  seventy  year  and  above. 

The  bull  frogs  croaked  in  the  rushes 

That  border  the  little  lake; 
Old  Jones  took  his  pipe  from  betwixt  his  teeth, 

"  '  Tis  just  fifty  years,  I  make, 


26  CORNELL   VERSE. 

"  And  sure  as  I  live  that  window 

Is  lighted  again  to-night. 
Did  you  ever  hear  the  story 

Of  the  drowning  of  Elsie  Wright?" 

"  Tell  on  your  yarn  !  "  cried  Tom  and  I, 

"  '  Tis  one  we  never  heard." 
"  A  gentle  girl  was  Elsie, 

She  had  pledged  to  me  her  word. 

"  But  I  was  a  wild  young  fellow, 

Her  father  a  stern  old  man, 
And  never  a  path  run  rougher, 

Than  our  too  true  love  ran. 

"  For  she  was  a  faithful  sweetheart, 

And  a  dutiful  daughter,  too; 
She  would  not  break  with  her  lover, 

Nor  anger  her  father  anew. 

"  He  pledged  her  hand  to  another, 

And  set  the  wedding  day; 
And  Elsie  couldn't  refuse  him, 

Nor  couldn't  run  away. 

1 '  So  the  night  before  the  wedding, 

I  sat  in  my  boat  just  here, 
Where  the  lake  curves  round  to  the  outlet; 

And  as  twelve  struck  on  my  ear, 

"  From  the  church-tower  yon  in  the  village, 

I  saw  the  light  go  out, 
That  burned  till  then  in  her  window, 

And  I  put  the  boat  about, 


WE  THREE  EISNERS.  27 

"  And  I  rowed  in  nearer  the  rushes' 

To  sleep  till  the  break  of  dawn, 
And  slept  the  sleep  of  the  sick  at  heart, 

Full  to  the  morrowT  morn. 

11  Only  just  as  I  dozed  for  the  first  time 

I  woke  with  a  startled  heart, 
And  listened  over  the  water, 

For  the  sound  that  made  me  start. 

"  But  all  was  as  still  as  it  now  is, 

There  was  only  the  hoot  of  the  owl, 
So  I  turned  again  to  my  slumber — 

Hearing  a  watch-dog  howl. 

"I  dreamed  strange  dreams  in  my  slumber, 

And  woke  foreboding  of  ill; 
Woke  with  the  gray  break  of  morning, 

When  all  was  misty  and  chill. 

"  But  I  shook  the  dew  from  my  shoulders, 

And  shoved  my  oars  into  place, 
Then  leaned  just  over  the  gunwale 

To  bathe  my  fevered  face. 

"My  God  !  in  the  stagnant  water, 

There  by  the  side  of  my  boat, 
Was  the  face  of  my  love,  my  darling, 

Rocked  by  the  ripples,  afloat. 

"  She  had  plunged  in  the  reedy  water, 

And  come  with  the  sluggish  tide, 
Floating  down  to  the  outlet 

To  rest  by  her  lover's  side." 

— Herbert  Crombie  Howe. 


28  CORNELL   VERSE. 


ODE  TO  CORNELL  UNIVERSITY. 
(Dedicated  to  Professor  Corson.) 
I. 
AK/HENE'ER  in  thought,  Cornell,  I  turn  to  thee, 

Thy  merry  chimes  each  time  prelude  the  dream, 
With  memories  newer  days  endear  to  me, 
Until  I  seem  to  see 
The  waters  of  Cayuga  in  the  wake 
Of  eight-oared  shells  reflect  the  sun 
Which,  setting,  biddeth  to  the  lake 
Those  many-toned  farewells  which  one  by  one 
All  into  gray  tints  run; 

And  I,  who  love  sweet-doing-naught,  recline 
Mid  idle  oars  and  make  her  slumbers  mine, 
Only  to  wake  when  from  a  far  oif  tower 
The  college  bells  with  rising  stars  combine 
To  tell  me  of  the  hour, 
Which  hath  but  little  power 
To  rouse  me  from  a  water-dream  so  dear. 

Sweet  chimes,  ring  on,  your  merry  notes  I  hear. 

II. 
Thus,  too,  in  dreams  'long  narrow  paths  well  known 
I  wander  through  a  rocky  gorge  astray, 
Down  shady  banks  that  free  me  from  the  sway 
Of  summer  heats  and  thoughts  oppressive  grown ; 
Far  oft  have  I  alone 

Sought  refuge  there  from  noons  of  mind  and  heart, 
Descending  winding  stairs  cut  in  a  wall 
Of  layered  rock  by  more  than  human  art, 


6 


ODE  TO  CORNELL  UNIVERSITY.  29 

To  listen  to  the  roaring  waterfall 

Whose  mists  of  spray  bathe  all 

The  trees  around,  and  fill  the  heated  air 

With  spring-time  cool,  far  more  than  summer's  share. 

Where  oft  of  old,  I  linger  now  ouce  more 

To  feed  my  soul  on  nature's  wholesome  fare, 

Until,  the  vision  o'er, 

Above  the  water's  roar 

Faint  notes  of  bells  fall  on  my  listening  ear. 

Sweet  chimes,  ring  on,  your  merry  notes  I  hear. 


III. 

But  not  alone  Cayuga's  lake  I  seek 

By  night,  or  Cascadilla's  gorge  at  noon. 

Thy  gifts  are  not  Cornellia's  only  boon, 

Fair  Nature,  leaving  all  beside  them  weak; 

For  from  the  sluggish  creek — 

We  call  it  Rhine — that  lakeward  wends  its  way, 

And  deep-cut,  torrent-worn  ravines  between, 

New  Ithaca  climbs  ever  day  by  day 

Unweariedlv  a  hill  with  verdure  green, 

A  home  endeared,  I  ween, 

To  all  who  come  its  student  haunts  to  know, 

And,  sharing  its  ambition  come  to  grow 

Unconsciously  attached  to  that  fair  crown 

Of  lights  upon  the  hill,  which  fame  bestow, 

And  nobly  earned  renown 

Upon  the  aspiring  town 

That  lends  with  me  to  bells  no  listless  ear. 

Sweet  chimes,  ring  on,  your  merry  notes  I  hear. 


30  CORNELL   VERSE. 

IV. 

Lake,  gorges,  ay,  and  town,  each  their  due  share 

Of  memories  awake,  but  most  of  all, 

When  chimes  I  hear,  Cornell,  do  I  recall 

Thy  massive  halls,  thy  drives  and  gardens  fair, 

And  that  pure  atmosphere 

Which  makes  the  strong  to  overcome  the  claims 

Of  older  rivals  to  the  place  of  old 

By  Athens  held,  however  great  their  names. 

Though  young  in  years,  oh,  be  thou  free  and  bold, 

Gifts  thine  alone  to  hold, 

That  feariug  neither  past  nor  years  to  be, 

Thy  sons  and  friends  may  come  in  thee  to  see 

A  city  set  upon  a  lofty  hill 

Forth-flashing  threefold  light  o'er  land  and  sea 

Unweariedly,  until, 

Prophetic  of  God's  will, 

Cornellian  words  fall  on  Columbia's  ear. 

Sweet  chimes,  ring  on,  your  merry  notes  I  hear. 

V. 

A  threefold  light,  I  said,  for  thou  must  feed, 
Columbia's  Athens,  body,  mind  and  soul, 
And  threefold  make  thy  foster-children's  goal, 
If  thou  wTouldst  meet  the  coming  age's  need, 
And  shine  supreme  indeed. 
Hence  hail,  ye  athletes,  all  who  strive  to  make 
Your  nerves  and  muscles  bide  each  manly  test- 
Who  long  have  floated  on  Cayuga's  lake 
Olympian  crews  none  venture  to  contest 
Nor  east,  nor  south,  nor  west. 


TWILIGHT.  31 

Hail,  doubly  hail,  ye  athletes  of  the  mind, 

Who  wreaths  of  conquering  thought  contend  to  bind 

Around  your  youthful  mother's  spacious  brow. 

But  trebly  hail,  ye  who,  too  long  outshined 

By  brawn  and  brain,  Cornell  e'en  now 

With  spirit-lore  endow, 

And  words  that  bell-like  reach  the  spirit's  ear. 

Sweet  chimes,  ring  on,  your  merry  notes  I  hear. 

— Courtney  Langdon. 


TWILIGHT. 

A    DULL  gray  sky 

O'er  which  swallows  fly; 
And  sweeps  of  meadow  parched  and  dry; 
The  twitter  of  birds; 
The  lowing  of  herds; 
A  rift  in  the  clouds  in  the  West: 

The  sough  of  the  winds 
In  the  sun-scorched  pines; 
Then  the  moaning  of  doves  and  the  owlet's  cry; 
The  echo  of  wheels 
In  the  mown  hay-fields; 
And  the  day  with  a  quiver's  at  rest. 

— Robert  Adger  Bowen. 


32  CORNELL   VERSE. 


MY  LOVE. 
I   IKE  rain-pools  over  Autumn's  leaves, 

My  sweet  Love's  eyes  to  me; 
Like  sunlight  over  golden  sheaves 

Her  wind-blown  tresses  free. 
Like  snow  upon  the  mountain's  face 

The  whiteness  of  her  throat; 
Her  movements  of  the  subtile  grace 

Of  lilies  all  afloat. 
Her  voice  is  sweet  as  silver  bells 

O'er  sheets  of  moon-lit  snow; 
Her  mouth,  a  full  ripe  flower,  where  dwells 

The  sunset's  crimson  glow. 
Her  soul  is  tender  as  blue  skies 

A  Southern  day  above; 
While  in  her  heart  all  priceless  lies 

The  Diamond  of  her  love. 

—  Robert  Adger  Bowen. 


ON  THE  RIVER. 

/^\UT  on  the  river  at  twilight, 

While  the  oars  dipped  softly  in, 
And  the  dear  old  songs  were  blended 
With  the  waterfall's  distant  din; 

While  the  round  moon  rose  up  slowly 

Over  the  crested  hill, 
And  silvered  a  thousand  ripples; 

When  mourned  the  whip-poor-will. 


PULPIT  POCK.  33 

Then  I  lost  my  heart  in  the  twilight, 
To  the  maiden  with  gleaming  hair: 

Still  nnder  the  spell  enchanted, 
In  my  dreams,  I  wander  there. 

— Herbert  Crombie  Howe. 


PULPIT  ROCK. 

D  OCKS  before  and 
Rocks  beneath  it, 
Towering  cliffs  on  every  side, 
Murmuring  pines  and  gorgeous  sumach 

Fern  and  dogwood  hide. 

Deep  green  waters, 

Slipping  softly, 
O'er  the  time-stained  edge  of  stone, 
Vanished  then  the  greenness  of  it 

By  the  breeze  npblown. 

Back  the  breezes 

Steady  cast  it, 
Like  the  spreading  of  a  veil, 
While  the  sunlight  deftly  paints  it 

In  a  rainbow  pale. 

Pulpit  rock, 

Without  a  preacher, 
What  a  sermon  there  you  find, 
Ever  preaching,  ever  speaking, 
Moving  heart  and  moving  mind. 


34  CORNELL   VERSE. 

All  is  peace  and 

Quiet  round  it, 
Save  the  water's  rush  and  roar; 
Churchmen  for  their  creeds  may  struggle, 

It  will  preach  as  e'er  before. 

— Kennedy  Furlong  Ruber t. 


THE  BLOSSOM. 
(From  Heine.) 

'T'HOU  art  so  like  a  blossom, 
So  gentle,  fair  and  pure; 
I  view  thee,  and  my  bosom 
Can  scarce  the  pain  endure. 

My  hands  and  heart  are  laden 
With  blessing,  and  with  prayer, 

That  God  may  keep  thee,  maiden, 
So  gentle,  pure,  and  fair. 

— George  Augustus  Rumsey. 


FAR  AWAY  LOVE. 

CAR  away  love,  far  away  love, 
My  spirit  wings  off  to  thee, 

Beating  the  clouds  in  the  heavens  above, 
Winging  o'er  land,  winging  o'er  sea, 
Far  away  love,  'tis  winging  to  thee. 


L O  VE'S  DISGUISE.  35 

Turning  from  revel,  from  banquet  and  song, 

Yearning,  my  love,  for  thee, 
Sweeping  swift  on  the  storm  along, 

My  soul  flies  fast  with  the  clouds  that  flee 

Over  the  continent,  love,  to  thee. 

May  Time  fly  as  fast  with  his  scythe  and  glass, 

Bringing  thee,  love,  to  me, 
As  the  hurrying  flakes  of  snow  that  pass, 

Bearing  the  months  on  his  pinions  free, 

Bearing  thee,  far  awTay  love,  to  me. 

— Herbert  Crombie  Howe. 


LOVE'S  DISGUISE. 
ClyY  Eros  once  knocked  at  the  door 

Of  one  whose  heart  had  oft  before 
Withstood  the  crafty  wiles  of  Cupid; 
Who  voted  Love,  in  fact  "  deuc'd  stupid. : 

"  Enter,"  he  called,  then — '*  wait  I'll  see 
Who  this  faint  applicant  may  be. ' ' 
He  looked,  and  there  before  him  stood 
A  little  maid  in  cloak  and  hood. 

"  Who  may  you  be,  my  little  one  ?" 
The  brown  eyes  glanced  demurely  down 
As  soft  replied  the  little  dame, 
"  Platonic  friendship,  sir,  's  my  name." 

li  Welcome,  thrice  welcome  then,"  cried  he, 
"  Right  often  have  I  wished  for  thee, 
For  with  thy  presence  in  my  heart 
I'll  snap  my  fingers  at  Love's  dart." 


36  CORNELL   VERSE. 

But  while  he  chuckled  to  himself 
At  that  poor  lorn,  defeated  elf, 
Sly  Cupid  threw  off  mask  and  guise, 
And  stood  confessed  before  his  eyes. 

MORAI,. 

Should  love  attempt  to  find  a  way 
Into  your  hearts,  don't  say  him  nay; 
For  find  a  way  he  surely  will, 
'Till  mountain  streams  shall  run  uphill. 

—John  Alan  Hamilton. 


HISTORY  AS  SHE  IS  CRITICISED. 

\ X7HEN  Columbus,  on  discovery  bent, 

Across  an  unknown  ocean  went, 
How  uselessly  his  time  was  spent. 
For  you  and  I  as  critics  know 
His  work  had  been  done — years  ago. 

When  Shakespeare  wrote  those  wondrous  plays 

For  men  of  every  age  to  praise 

And  made  the  stage  with  glory  blaze— 

'Twas  fruitless  toil.     We  critics  claim 

He  had  no  right  to  work  or  fame. 

When  Washington  his  little  hatchet 
Had  used  and  didn't  try  to  patch  it 
By  lying,  so  he  wouldn't  "catch  it " — 
'Twas  foolish— scholars  all  agree 
There  was  no  hatchet  and  no  tree. 


GOOD  NIGHT.  37 

When  Pocahontas'  naughty  pop 
Decided  John  Smith's  head  to  chop 
She  threw  herself  between— yelled  "stop!" 
'Twas  wasted  breath — for  critics  say 
She  mended  socks  at  home  that  day. 

And,  would  you  think  it? — you  and  I 

Are  daily  making  history  lie 

If  we  do  anything  but  die. 

For  critics  when  our  lives  they've  twisted, 

Will  prove  we  never  have  existed. 

—Albert  Ellis  Hoyt. 


GOOD-NIGHT. 
r*  OOD-NIGHT  !     Good-night !     The  rippling  stream 

^■^     Sings  to  the  trees  that  idly  dream, 
From  whose  dark  tops  the  night-bird's  song 
Floats  with  the  babbling  waves  along. 

Good-night !     The  bright-eyed  daisy  keeps 
Watch  while  the  wild  oxalis  sleeps; 
And,  looking  up,  reflects  a  star 
In  each  green  meadow  near  and  far. 

Good-night!     Good-night!     The  wooded  hill 
No  longer  hears  the  rumbling  mill, 
But  still  resounds,   in  echoes  weak, 
The  blended  voices  of  the  creek. 

No  breeze  disturbs  the  maple's  leaves; 
The  spider  now  his  cobweb  weaves ; 
And  to  the  full  moon  pale  and  bright, 
The  whole  world  sings:  "Good-night!     Good-night!" 
—  William  Chauncey  Langdon,  Jr. 


38  CORNELL   VERSE. 

THE  SURPLUS. 

QUOTH  the  grave  old  college  Senior, 
With  a  Mentor-like  demeanor: 
"Overcrowded  all  things  human; 
Surplus  men  and  surplus  women ; 
Surplus  everywhere  we  see ; 
Can  this  problem  solved  be?" 

Archly  at  her  true  love  smiling, 
All  his  sombre  gloom  beguiling; 
Lightly  from  his  logic  turning, 
Thus  she  answers  to  his  learning: 
"Seems  to  me  that's  easy  done; 
Doesn't  marriage  make  two  one?" 

—Albert  Ellis  Hoyt. 


0T 


THE  CONSECRATION  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL. 
^UR  modern  science  seeks  to  prove 
All  matter  and  all  force 
Are  indestructible,  and  move 

Through  one  unending  course, 
And  forces  are  but  forms  of  one 

Derived  from  one  great  source,  the  sun. 

The  beautiful,  it  may  be  shown, 

Has  life  eternal,  too, 
And  in  an  empire  of  its  own 

Is  ever  formed  anew. 
Although  it  seems  to  fade  and  fly, 

'Tis  but  transformed — it  cannot  die. 


CONSECRATION  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL.    39 

For  when  through  rosy  clouds  the  sun 

Doth  glide  away  from  sight ; 
Although  the  brilliant  day  is  done, 

The  beauties  of  the  night, 
In  moon  and  stars  from  heaven's  seat, 

The  splendor  of  the  day  repeat. 

Or  if  the  clouds  eclipse  the  moon 

They  fall  in  gentle  showers, 
And  all  the  earth  begins  to  bloom, 

A  paradise  of  flowers. 
Or  lightning,  through  the  heavens  torn, 

Reveals  the  beauty  of  the  storm. 

The  forest  on  the  mountain  side 

Lifts  high  its  leafy  head ;  . 
In  autumn  blushes  like  a  bride ; 

And  when  the  leaves  are  dead, 
The  soft  white  mantle  of  the  plain 

Is  proof  their  death  was  not  in  vain. 

And  Nature's  laws, with  wondrous  heed, 

A  latent  beauty  store; 
The  flowers  droop,  but  in  their  seed 

They  live  to  bloom  once  more. 
And  beauty  stored  within  the  brain, 

In  memory  breaks  forth  again. 

In  Beauty's  realm  each  changing  force 

Exists  within  the  mind, 
And  love  is  the  eternal  source 

In  which  each  different  kind 
Of  beauty  finds  its  pristine  birth, 

And  is  sent  forth  to  bless  the  earth. 


4o  CORNELL   VERSE. 

And  love  and  beauty  through  the  world 

Move  onward  hand  in  hand, 
And  breathe  upon  the  human  soul, 

That  man  may  understand, 
In  earth,  as  in  the  heaven  above, 

All  things  are  beautiful  through  love. 

— Adna  Ferrin  Weber. 


SONNET. 

(To  my  chum's  piano. ) 

TF  thou  couldst  know  what  oft  of  thee  I  crave, 

Then  surely  wouldst  thou  lasting  quiet  keep, 
And  therebv  comfort  one  who  oft  would  weep 
When  thy  sweet  power  doth  drive  from  studies  grave, 
Doth  steal  'way  thoughts  of  quiz,  and  makes  me  slave 
To  that  voluptuous  might  which  puts  to  sleep 
When  most  I  should  my  senses  keep. 

4 'No!  No!"   I  cry.     "To  learn  one  must  be  brave!" 
Vainly  I  plead.     Though  long  and  earnestly  I  pray, 
Thou  hast  no  pity,  mercy  for  poor  me. 
Thy  melody  doth  swell ;  like  one  ensnared, 
I  lift  my  feeble  head,  but  still  as  prey 
Fall  to  thine  o'erwhelming  mastery 
And  thus  at  quiz  to-morrow  must  murmur,  "  Not  pre- 
pared. ' ' 

— Charles  Joseph  Levy. 


A  SNOWFLAKE.  41 

LUKE  THE  PURITAN. 
f^H,  he  was  a  squire  of  high  degree, 

That  fit  in  the  wars  of  the  old  eountree, 
But  he  was  as  glum  as  he  could  be, 

This  squire  of  the  olden  time. 

He  loved  fair  Rose  of  the  saucy  lip, 
But  he  saw  his  love  to  the  altar  trip, 
With  John  of  the  Hall,  and  he  smote  his  hip, 
And  hated  all  womankind. 

So  lie  reformed  from  his  soul  to  his  toes, 
And  married  a  girl  with  a  big  hook  nose 
To  help  him  forget  the  dainty  Rose 

That  bloomed  by  the  garden  wall. 

She  made  him  hate  all  women  worse, 
So  he  saddled  his  horse  with  a  mighty  curse, 
And  rode  to  the  wars,  and  here  my  verse 
Must  leave  my  Puritan. 

— Herbert  Crombie  Howe, 


A  SNOWFLAKE. 
A    MERRY,  dancing,  tiny  thing, 
**     That  floats  down  through  the  silent  air, 
Or,  fanned  by  passing  breeze's  wing, 
Is  lightly  borne,  now  here,  now  there. 

Before  she  nears  the  dull  brown  earth, 

She  rises  up  and  seeks  to  find 
The  higher  realms  that  gave  her  birth, 

With  others  of  her  kind. 


42  CORNELL   VERSE. 

About  she  twirls  in  mad'ning  maze, 
Till  wearied,  like  a  dove  at  night, 

That  scarce  its  snowy  head  can  raise, 
In  foreign  country  stays  its  flight, 

Nor  thinks  how  home  may  be  attained. 

So  she  now  sinks  (slow  is  her  fall) 
Until  the  hostile  ground  is  gained, 

O'erspread  with  autumn's  loathsome  pall. 

And  there  she  lies;  but  'tis  not  long — 
She  melts  from  sight,  the  one  most  fair 

Of  all  that  wilful,  gladsome  throng 
That  danced  so  gaily  in  mid-air. 

Ah!  many  souls  to  me,  it  seems, 

Like  her  to  heavens  high  have  grown, 

Whom  Fate  called  from  their  idle  dreams, 
And  cast  upon  a  world  unknown, 

Whence,  all  too  tender  to  remain, 

They  silently  have  passed  away 
As  she — not  fashioned  for  the  pain 

Of  contact  with  Earth's  cruel  clay. 

— Bertha  Marion  Brock. 


ON  A  BUST  OF  A.  D.  W. 
(In  the  Cornell  Library. ) 
IN  marble  cold  of  spotless  white, 

Carved  by  a  master  hand, 
How  many  a  student  will  delight 
To  trace  the  marks  of  spirit  grand, 
Of  rarest  culture  in  the  land, 


AT  THE  ARMORY.  43 

Of  high  resolve  and  purpose  strong 

To  aid  the  right,  to  conquer  wrong, 

To  stand  the  good  of  earth  among ; 

But,  ah.  how  little  can  reveal 

The  poet  with  his  nietred  song, 

Or  sculptor  with  unfeeling  steel : 

The  generous  heart  is  never  known 

By  gazing  on  the  sculptured  stone; 

That  power  that  makes  the  meanest  feel 

There  is  a  something  better  far 

Than  wealth  and  fame  and  knowledge  are, 

That  makes  the  proudest-hearted  own 

The  sway  of  feelings  that  enthrone 

The  princely  brotherhood  of  man. 

— Louis  Carl  Ehle. 


AT  THE  ARMORY. 

THE  under  classman's  face  grows  bright; 

About  his  lips  a  smile  doth  play; 
His  eyes  have  caught  the  joyful  words 
Upon  the  board  :  "  No  drill  to-day. ' ' 

—A.  H.  F. 


44  CORNELL   VERSE. 

A  LOGICAL  COURTvSHIP. 

( Dedicated  to  the  Sophomores. ) 

D ARBARA  was  a  lovely  girl  who  had  a  Perfect  Figure, 
Her  mouth  a  smile,  her  hair  in  curl,  and  pretty 
as  a  picture. 

Now,  weary  of  my  Singular  Term,  I'd  paid  her  oft  atten- 
tion, 

Till  her  father  asked  me,  plain  and  firm,  my  Meaning 
and  Intention. 

A  Proposition  seemed  to  me — a  Universal  one,  too — 

Most  Valid  for  us  both  to  be,  would  I  the  dearest  girl 
woo. 

One  day  I  chanced  to  meet  my  love— Per  Accidens,  just 
mind  — 

And  kissed  by  sunny  skies  above  and  fanned  by  mild 
soft  wind, 

We  sat  beneath  the  branches  of  the  Tree  of  Porphyry, 
And  in  the  magic  spell  of  love  were  happy  as  could  be. 
I  stole  a  kiss;  she  blushed  and  said:  "That  process  is 

Illicit!" 
And  yet  she   did  not  move  her  head ;  what  could  I  do 

but  kiss  it? 
These  words  then  in  her  ear  I  sighed:  "'T  must  either 

be  or  not  be, ' ' 
While   Euler's  Diagrams   I   tried  (my  arm   around   her 

waist — see?) 
She   looked   first  thoughtful,    then   looked   glad:  what 

answer  did  she  deign  to  give? 
Oh,    lucky    man!     Oh,     rapture    mad!    that    Particular 

Affirmative.  —Benjamin  Nathan. 


FOOTBALL  REQUISITES.  45 


FOOTBALL  REQUISITES. 

\  TLfHAT  makes  a  model  football  man? 
A  massive  frame,  built  on  a  plan 
Like  that  the  Grecian  gods  assumed 
When  warring  'gainst  a  city  doomed; 
The  muscles  strong  as  braided  wire, 
And  limbs  which  never  seem  to  tire; 
Rapidity  of  hand  and  eye, 
And  feet  that  fairly  seem  to  fly ; 
Endurance  to  withstand  each  shock, 
Unyielding  as  the  solid  rock, — 
'Tis  only  traits  like  these  that  can 
Combine  to  make  a  football  man. 

What  makes  a  model  football  man? 

A  heart,  that  since  it  first  began 

With  life  the  body  to  supply, 

Has  beat  with  courage  pure  and  high; 

A  pluck  that  will  not  learn  defeat 

From  any  team  that  one  may  meet; 

Which  risks  the  limbs,  and  laughs  at  pain, 

Nor  hesitates  to  try  again  ; 

And  college  spirit  fostered  well, 

Like  that  which  thrives  at  old  Cornell, — 

'Tis  only  traits  like  these  that  can 

Combine  to  make  a  football  man. 

— Adna  Ferrin  Weber, 


46  CORNELL   VERSE. 


MY  TRUE  LOVE. 

'"THOU,  my  sweet  one,  when  thou'rt  near  me, 

Naught  but  joy  my  heart  can  find ; 
Naught  but  bliss  can  then  steal  o'er  me, 
All  my  cares  are  left  behind. 

Let  these  lips  once  more  caress  thee; 

Come  thou,  soothe  my  troubled  breast. 
Thou,  my  pipe,  again  I  bless  thee ; 

'Mong  all  my  loves,  I  love  thee  best. 


CONDITIONED. 

TO  summer's  brief  joys  I  give  court, 

And  each  day  seems  the  same  repetition 
Of  pleasures,  when,  lo!  my  report — 
It  shows  I've  incurred  a  condition! 

A  yearning  will  come,  as  I  pore 

Over  tomes  of  most  drear  erudition, 

For  tennis.     I'll  study  no  more; 

To-morrow  I'll  Bohn  that  condition. 

Fair  maids  show  me  cool,  shady  nooks, 
And  they  hold  me  in  happy  submission — 

A  lover.     Away  with  dull  books ; 
I  ne'er  will  take  up  my  condition. 


THAT  VOICE.  47 

Vacation  has  faded  away ; 

Alas!  I've  not  paid  my  tuition — 
Professor,  oh!  why  did  you  say 

I've  failed  to  pass  off  my  condition! 

—H.  R.  H. 


THAT  VOICE. 

CITTING  alone  in  my  study, 

In  the  lamplight's  mellow  glow. 
My  thoughts  are  wandering  backward 
To  the  scenes  of  long  ago. 

And  I  think  of  that  one  short  season 
When  the  world  was  bright  and  gay ; 

All  things  seemed  good,  and  shadows 
Ne'er  crossed  my  onward  way. 

And  again  from  out  the  stillness 

That  voice  comes  still  and  sweet; 
Words  that  are  never  forgotten, 

Words  one  can  never  repeat. 

No  words  of  scorn  or  pity, 

No  words  of  scorn  or  fear, 
But  words  of  love  and  kindness 

In  that  soft,  sweet  voice  I  hear. 

Heaven  grant,  when  this  life  is  over, 
And  I  pass  from  this  earth  here  below, 

I  will  meet  in  that  land  over  yonder 
That  voice  of  those  days  long  ago. 

— Amy  Gerecke. 


48  CORNELL   VERSE. 


THE  MODEL  STUDENT. 

MO  nights  up  late  unless  at  books, 

No  brain  chock  full  of  empty  nooks, 
No  smoking  deadly  cigarettes, 
No  pitching  cents  or  making  bets, 
No  smoking  pipes  on  college  walks, 
No  library-disturbing  talks, 
No  taking,  from  the  stand,  umbrellas, 
No  "changing"  hats  with  other  fellows, 
No  poker  chips'  right  merry  clinks, 
No  drowning  sorrow  down  at  Zinck's. 
No  Bohn's  edition,  nor  a  horse, 
No  ponies,  cribs,  or  cuts — or  worse; 
No  slang,  no  oaths,  no  talk  that's  shoddy: 
In  fact,  no  other  than — Nobody  ! 

— Benjamin  Nathan. 


T 


CORNEIvLSCHMERTZ. 

(Among  a  collection  of  landscapes  ) 

HE  long  room  stretches  into  dusky  gloom, 
The  soft  light  falls  in  glorifying  rays 
On  paintings,  etchings,  bits  of  light  and  shade, 
Suggestions  of  an  artist's  dreamy  days. 

I  revel  in  the  color  richness  there 

I  revel  at  Art's  cunning  that  has  caught 

The  hues  of  sunset,  wood  and  hill  and  field, 

Their  deepest  meaning  on  mere  canvas  wrought. 


CORNEL  LSCHMER  TZ.  49 

But  while  I  gaze,  from  every  line  and  tint 

Remembrance  doth  a  dearer  story  tell. 
Each  picture  calls  a  memory,  dim  or  bright, 

Of  happy  comradeship  with  thee,  Cornell. 

Wide  placid  rivers  winding  far  away, 

Blue  sparkling  lake  depths,  white  foam  dashed  on  high, 
Mean  fair  Cayuga  in  its  varying  moods, 

Responsive  to  the  moods  of  changing  sky. 

In  wood  crowned  hills,  in  valley's  gentle  lap, 
In  meadow's  green,  in  rolling  upland's  swell, 

I  see  the  setting  which  has  made  thy  name 
Mean  all  of  beauty  and  of  charm,  Cornell. 

I  catch  a  glimpse  of  Enfield's  rocky  gorge 

In  cliffs  that  tower  abruptly  to  the  sky; 
Each  mountain  stream  in  glen  or  deep  ravine, 

Is  Cascadilla's  torrent  rushing  by. 

Dark  hemlock  boughs  bend  'neath  their  weight  of  snow, 
As  o'er  thy  winding  paths  on  wintry  days, 

Here  flame  the  autumn  tints,  there  lie  the  warm  brown 
woods 
As  in  thy  Indian  summer's  faint  blue  haze. 

This  after-glow  that  melts  in  purple  dusk, 
Whose  soft  dark  veil  o'er  lake  and  valley  lies, 

Where  but  beyond  thy  sloping  western  hills 
Could  bloom  such  tender  violets  in  the  skies  ? 

Hark  !  surely  those  are  chimes.   From  neighboring  square 
Peals  forth  the  voice  of  sweet  toned  vesper  bell, 

But  not  thy  chimes.     Swift  rush  the  sudden  tears, 
Ah  !  happy,  happy  days  with  thee,  Cornell. 


50  CORNELL   VERSE. 

SUNDAY. 

(In  Ithaca. ) 
JT'IS  Sunday;  all  the  world  is  stilled, 

A  calm  breathes  o'er  the  air; 
With  tranquil  peace  my  heart  is  filled, 

Good  will  towards  all  I  bear. 
All  nature  rests;  the  shrubs  and  trees 

Add  quiet  to  the  day ; 
I  dream  in  happy,  peaceful  ease 

With  thoughts  far,  far  away. 
Ah,  silence  works  a  mighty  charm 

On  such  men  as  I  am; 
No  sound — but  what's  that  wild  alarm  ? 
"  m\-mi-i-ra.  Tele-gra-a-m." 

— Benjamin  Nathan. 


THE  CHIMBS  OF  CORNELL. 
(Written    by   C.    F.    Allen,  '73,    and    read   at   the   first 
annual  dinner  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  Cornell  Alumni 
Association,  Denver,  Col.) 

TT  was  in  the  ripening  autumn 

1     Of  the  year  of  '69, 

That  I  saw  the  Cornell  campus 

With  some  anxious  friends  of  mine. 

In  the  sight  of  fair  Cayuga, 

Robed  in  mysteries  of  blue, 
We  filed  our  entrance  papers 

With  the  little  that  we  knew. 


THE  CHIMES  OE  CORNELL.  51 

The  years  have  fled  like  eagles, 

In  a  dozen  varying  climes; 
But  we  still  may  hear  the  ringing 

Of  the  un forgotten  chimes. 

On  the  hills  of  Newfield,  faintly, 

On  the  bosom  of  the  lake, 
Like  the  footbells  of  a  fairy, 

Would  their  dying  echoes  break. 

In  the  deep,  eternal  canon, 

By  the  sea's  sad,  sounding  shore, 
They  have  rung  their  changes  often 

As  they  never  rung  of  yore. 

O'er  the  trail  of  high  Sierras, 

Where  the  patient  burro  climbs, 
We  have  heard  the  unseen  swinging, 

We  have  heard  the  Cornell  chimes. 

I  start  sometimes  and  listen 

To  the  ponderous  middle  bell; 
Then  the  sweet  face  of  its  giver 

Is  awakened  by  the  spell, 

Or  the  minor  tones  ring  sadly, 

For  another's  vanished  life; 
For  her  gifts  despoil  in  giving 

At  the  shameless  hands  of  strife. 

But  their  warm  hearts  speak  forever, 

In  a  flood  of  mellow  hymns; 
They  are  still  small  voices  mingled 

In  the  aria  of  their  chimes. 


52  CORNELL   VERSE. 

We  have  passed  sometimes  so  closely 
To  the  reaper's  cruel  scythe; 

We  have  faced  the  storm  and  darkness- 
We  have  saved  alone  the  tithe. 

We  may  sow  the  grain  in  gladness, 
But  we  reap  with  weary  hands, 

Knotting  in  our  stricken  lilies, 
With  the  golden  harvest-bands. 

Yet  the  sun  need  not  be  hidden, 
Nor  the  stars  in  troublous  times, 

There  is  courage  born  of  music, 
There  is  magic  in  the  chimes. 

They  uplift  the  misty  curtains, 
From  the  fair  expanse  of  years; 

There  are  hands  outstreched  to  help  us, 
There  are  eyes  that  fill  with  tears. 

The  soldier  dies  exultant, 

With  a  kiss  upon  his  li<ps; 
The  sailor  sinks  undaunted, 

For  the  white  sails  of  his  ships. 

In  the  perfumed  fields  of  summer, 
In  the  winter's  sleet  and  rimes, 

Let  our  hearts  be  strong  and  brave, 
For  the  far-off  Cornell  chimes. 


TO  A  CARNATION.  53 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED. 

/^\NE  winter's  day  as  the  sun  went  down 
^^^   And  the  shadows  grew  deep  on  hill  and  glade, 
A  hapless  stranger  in  the  towm 
^Beneath  the  Barnes  Hall  portal  strayed, 
And  heard  borne  from  the  gloom  o'erhead 
Wild  sounds,  that  filled  his  soul  with  dread. 

Wild  cries  and  shrieks  wTere  heard  aloft, 

With  prayers  and  groans  and  yells, 

And  sounds  unutterable,  as  oft 

Of  horrid  murder  tells, 

Of  ghosts  unburied,  who  e'ermore 

Must  wander  on  the  Stygian  shore. 

The  stranger  crossed  himself  in  fear. 

"  What  devils  howl  at  even  dim  ? 

What  are  those  awful  sounds  I  hear?" 

A  smiling  student  answered  him, 

"  Those  fearful  sounds  the  night  winds  bring? 

Why  that's  the  Glee  Club  practicing." 

—L. 


TO  A  CARNATION. 

MODEST  flower 
*"*     Of  lasting  worth, 
Of  richest  dye, 

Though  born  of  earth. 


54  CORNELL    VERSE. 

The  fairest  rose 
That  ever  grew 

Can  tell  not  half 
That's  told  by  you. 


Thy  meaning  is 

Affection  pure 
That  lives  and  lasts, 

A  love  that's  sure. 

— Kennedy  Furlong  Rubert. 


BOATING  SONG. 
JOLLY  Cornell  students 

In  the  days  of  yore, 
On  Cayuga's  waters 

Plied  the  splashing  oar; 
Over  bars  and  shallows 

Where  the  white  foam  flew, 
There  our  gallant  coxswain 
Steered  the  Cornell  crew. 

Gone  are  Cornell  yachtsmen, 

Gone  the  days  of  yore; 
Still  our  jolly  sailors 

Cruising  'round  ashore, 
When  perchance  at  Casey's 

Or  at  Zinckie's  are, 
Steer  their  foaming  schooner 

O'er  the  perilous  bar. 


-A.  A.  C. 


AN  IDYLL.  55 


BALLAD  OF  SPRING. 

A    BLAST  of  snow, 
A  drop  of  rain, 
A  stormy  blow, 

Some  snow  again, 
A  balmy  breeze, 

A  dash  of  hail, 
A  zero  freeze, 

An  autumn  gale, 
A  slippery  glare, 

A  sea  of  mud, 
A  morning  fair, 

A  spring-time  flood, 
A  tempest  lower, 

A  frosty  nip, 
An  April  shower, 

A  sullen  drip: — 

When  mixed  and  mingled  with  every  ill, 
And  seasoned  with  maladies  dismal  and  fell, 

All  emptied  at  once  o'er  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
Make  up  the  weather  we  have  at  Cornell. 

— Anon. 


AN  IDYLL. 

\  A/HILE  strolling  down  the  village  street, 

I  met  a  maid  of  face  so  sweet, 
Whose  dress  was  pretty  and  so  neat, 
I  stopped— now  wouldn't  you? 


56  CORNELL    VERSE. 

With  gentle  sigh  did  I  entreat, 
That  she  me  to  a  kiss  would  treat, 
And  thus  my  happiness  complete, 
She  did— now  wouldn't  you? 

But  turning  'round  with  glance  discreet, 
I  saw  her  dad,  with  club  to  beat, 
And  as  I  wished  not  thus  to  meet, 
I  ran — now  wouldn't  you  ? 


THE  CORNELL  CHIMES. 

"C  ACH  coming  morn  I  list  in  vain, 

To  hear  the  old  bells  ringing, 
For  jingling  rhymes 
Of  college  chimes 

Are  memories  now  of  by-gone  times; 
A  far  off  lingering  refrain 
Of  song  no  bells  are  singing. 

Each  noon  again  I  miss  their  cheer, 

Their  sunny  message  falling, 

With  magic  spell 

On  ears,  where  dwell 

Faint  echoes  speaking  of  Cornell, 

Of  men  and  things  now  doubly  dear, 

Since  lost  beyond  recalling. 

But  'tis  at  eve,  when  sets  the  sun, 
That  most  I  miss  their  greeting; 


THE  OXALIS.  57 

Their  silence  speaks  of  months  and  weeks, 
Which  fondly  now  my  memory  seeks, 
Where  bells  and  waters  blend  in  one 
O'er  rocky  gorges  meeting. 

— Courtney  Langdon. 


THE  OXALIS. 
OTHER  Nature's  youngest  baby, 
Rosy  little  child, 
Up  at  daybreak,  bright  and  early, 
On  the  grassy  wild; 


M 


Laughing  softly  with  the  sunbeams, 
Hiding,  when  they  frown, 
In  the  long  grass,  where  the  drone  dreams 
Till  the  sun  goes  down. 

All  day  its  little  petals 
Redden  in  the  sun, 
Till  the  restful  evening  settles 
And  the  day  is  done. 

Then  it  closes  leaves  and  petals 
As  round  the  shadows  creep, 
Till  again  the  morning  hours 
Wake  it  from  its  sleep. 

—  William  Courtney  Langdon,  Jr, 


58  CORNELL    VERSE. 

A  GOOD  EXAMPLE. 

THIS  race  between  the  different  ' '  frats  " 

Is  running  to  excess  ; 
Too  oft  a  man  is  pressed  by  all 
Before  one  gets  his  "  yes." 

Learn  wisdom  of  the  weaker  sex; 
With  them,  though  'tis  distressing, 
One  always  has  to  get  the  "yes  " 
Before  one  does  the  pressing. 

—John  Alan  Hamilton. 


HIS  PRIVILEGE. 

I  SAW  him  kiss  her,  what  cared  I 
*     'Though  she  did  kiss  another? 
I'd  still  a  finger  in  the  pie— 
That  fellow  was  her  brother. 

—John  Kneel  and  Garnsey. 


"HE  WHO  HESITATES !" 

C  TANDS  my  love  upon  the  stair, 

Smiles  a  rougish,  tempting  greeting; 
Only  dared  I  kiss  her  there, 
Do  you  think  she'd  care  ? 

Chances  are  so  rare  and  fleeting. 
Ah!  too  late;  her  mother's  there. 

—John  Alan  Hamilton. 


SERENADE. 


59 


A  DILEMMA. 

AA^HICH  one  to  take,  the  dark  or  fair? 

I  stood  bereft  of  action, 
For  they  were  each  of  beauty  rare; 
To  choose  one  was  distraction. 

Which  one  should  rest  upon  my  breast 

To  hear  my  heart's  wTild  beating; 
To  hold  around  my  neck  entwined  ? 

But  choose  I  must— time's  fleeting. 

Select  which  one  to  hold  my  hand 

To  squeeze  and  press  to  tightness, 
Which  one  to  take  to  clasp  my  neck 

In  pure  and  stainless  whiteness. 

But  choose,  and  end  this  wild  suspense, 
Dost  hesitate  'twixt  love  and  dollars? 

No:    But  'tis  such  a  strain  to  pick 

One's  evening  neck-ties,  gloves,  and  collars. 
— Benjamin  Nathan. 


SERENADE. 
HTHERE  is  a  star  I  love  as  mine, 

For  earth  is  bright  where'er  it  shine; 
But  if  a  cloud  obscure  its  spark 
Then  all  the  world  to  me  is  dark. 
A  lovely  face  the  single  light; 
Her  smile  is  day,  her  frown  is  night. 


60  CORNELL   VERSE. 

There  is  a  bell  to  me  most  dear, 

Whose  tones  ring  out  with  love  and  cheer 

For  joyful  heart — but  sadly  toll 

In  harmony  with  Sorrow's  soul. 

A  maiden's  voice,  this  sweet-toned  bell 

Wherein  both  joy  and  sadness  dwell. 

—  William  Couriney  Lang  don,  Jr. 


A  CONSTANT  HEART. 

T   ET  him  who  will  sing  beauty's  praise, 
In  honeyed  word  and  heated  phrase 

Her  virtues  tell ; 
But  thou,  my  muse,  thy  accents  raise 
To  sing  that  star  of  quenchless  rays — 

A  constant  heart. 

Ah,  well  may  beauty  please  us  when 
Fond  peace  to  mirth  looks  love  again. 

And  all  is  bright ; 
But  when  dull  care  and  sorrow  blend 
T'  oppress  my  soul,  oh  give  me  then 

A  constant  heart. 

When  summer  skies  and  smiling  seas 
Bring  gladness  to  iny  hours  of  ease, 

Let  beauty  smile; 
With  sadder  days  my  soul  there'll  seize 
A  longing  nought  but  thou' 11  appease, 

A  constant  heart. 


TO  A  DEAD  BIRD.  61 

How  soon  upon  Time's  wid'ning  sea 
Do  beauty's  charms  take  wings  and  flee, 

By  care  o'ercome; 
'Mid  billows  of  adversity, 
Then  brighter  still  thy  beams  will  be, 

0  constant  heart. 

When  dark  and  drear  my  life-road  seems, 
And  hope  withholds  her  precious  gleams 

1  sadly  muse, 

Then  like  the  smiles  of  angels'  beams 
A  vision  bright  that  conies  in  my  dreams 
Of  a  constant  heart. 

Then  sing  I  not  vain  beauty's  praise — 
A  thing  that  fades  with  summer  days 

And  soon  is  gone ; 
But  through  life's  dubious  gloomy  mazs 
B?  thou  my  star  of  quenchless  rays 

O  constant  heart ! 

— F.  Clay. 


TO  A  DEAD  BIRD. 

C WEET  bird,  in  life,  thy  tuneful  voice 

Has  bid  the  woods  and  meads  rejoice, 
Has  greeted  glad  the  new-born  day, 
Has  sung  at  evening's  parting  ray, 
In  notes  that  cheer  the  gloom  away. 
Perhaps  thy  wings  rejoicing  bore 
Thy  form  thro'  fields  of  air  to  soar; 


62  CORNELL    VERSE. 

Or  when  the  sun  had  sunk  to  rest, 

Laying  thy  head  upon  thy  breast, 

Hast  passed  in  innocent  sleep  the  night, 

And  rising  ere  the  morning  light 

Thy  simple  song  in  thanks  hast  given 

That  move  the  very  heart  of  heaven. 

But  every  joy  must  end  at  last, 

And  now  thy  happy  life  is  past ; 

Beside  me  lies  thy  graceful  form, 

Once  flushed  with  joyous  life  and  warm. 

The  rain  has  soiled  thy  once  fair  crest, 

And  dreary  nights  have  chilled  thy  breast ; 

Yet  earth  has  taken  thee  to  rest 

And  formed  for  thee  a  loving  nest ; 

The  sun  doth  shine  with  sadder  light, 

Since  thou  art  taken  from  his  sight; 

The  wind,  once  rude,  has  gentler  grown, 

And -softened  more  his  dreary  moan 

Since  thou,  sweet  bird,  hast  stilled  thy  breath 

In  the  ne'er-ending  sleep  of  death. 

Thus  run  my  thoughts  in  study  brown  ; 
Dissecting  knives  have  fallen  down, 
The  bird  untouched  upon  the  slab — 
Is  this  the  way  I  work  at  lab: 
Day-dreaming  at  my  work  so  soon 
This  warm  and  drowsy  afternoon. 

— Robert  James  Kellogg. 


SUNSET.  63 


AT  VESPERS. 

TN  the  shadowy  aisle  she's  kneeling 
While  the  organ  soft  is  pealing, 

And  the  notes  come  faintly  stealing 
Through  the  heavy  scented  air. 

From  the  windows  manifold 
Blazoned  there  in  blue  and  gold, 
Heroes,  martyrs,  saints  of  old, 

Watch  the  maiden  at  her  prayer. 

—Jared  Van  Wagenen,  Jr. 


SUNSET. 

AS  I  musing  gaze  through  the  sun-lighted  haze 

That  fill  Ganseraga's  valley, 
At  the  hills  all  aglow,  and  the  earth  down  below, 
O'er  which  purpling  mists,  far  and  near,  rally, 
While  the  grass-clad  hills  and  the  trees  and  the  rills, 
In  the  sunset,  gleam,  green  or  sparkling, 
Like  the  paradise  on  earth,  of  the  Bethlehem  of  birth 
Of  sweet  peace,  an  earth  era  marking ; 
In  the  blissful  trance,  the  bewildered  glance, 
Deceived  by  the  shimmer  and  mist, 
Sees  faces  divine  with  brightest  light  shine, 
And  forms  ne'er  by  earth-light  kissed  ; 
And  the  soaring  soul,  beyond  the  cloud  scroll, 
Partakes  of  the  joys  of  the  blest. 

— Robert  H.  Tremain. 


64  CORNELL    VERSE. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PUT  IT. 

THERE  she  sat,  with  sweet  surprise 

Mixed  with  the  mischief  in  her  eyes; 
While  before  her  he  stood  calm, 
Holding  in  his  outstretched  palm 
A  tiny  circlet  made  of  gold, 
Chased  with  figures  quaint  and  old. 
"  'Twas  my  grandma's  ring,"  he  said, 
Then  quite  low,  with  face  grown  red, 
"This  offering  now  to  you  I  bring, 
Plead  with  you  to  take  this  ring.  " 
From  her  face  the  laughter  died 
As  she  turned  her  face  aside, 
Slowly  took  the  proffered  band ; 
Slipped  it  on  her  bare  white  hand ; 
"That  is  right,   for  don't  you  see, 
I  can  now  your  grandma  be. ' ' 

—Amy  Gerecke* 


ON  THE  "INTIMATIONS  OF  IMMORTALITY." 

AS  organ  tones  with  deep  melodious  roll 

Through  cloistered  aisles  with  holy  shadows  dim, 
So  with  immortal  longings  comes  this  hymn 
And  sinks  with  mellowed  music  in  the  soul. 

— Robert  Ad^er  Bowen. 


WATCHING.  65 

WHEN  MORNING  BREAKS. 
\Kf  HEN  morning  breaks  what  fortune  waits  for  me? 
What  ships  shall  rise  from  out  the  misty  sea? 
What  friends  shall  clasp  my  hand  in  fond  farewell? 
What  dream-wrought  castles,  as  night's  clouds  dispel, 
Shall  raise  their  sun-kissed  towers  upon  the  lea? 

To-night  the  moon-queen  shining  wide  and  free, 
To-night  the  sighing  breeze,  the  song,  and  thee ; 
But  time  is  brief.     What  cometh,  who  can  tell, 
When  morning  breaks? 

To-night,  to-night,  then  happy  let  us  be! 
To-night,  to-night,  life's  shadowy  cares  shall  flee! 
And  though  the  dawn  come  in  with  chime  or  knell, 
When  night  recalls  its  last  bright  sentinel 
I  shall,  at  least,  have  memories  left  to  me, 
When  morning  breaks. 

—  Edward  A.  Raleigh. 


WATCHING. 
CINCE  you  have  passed  without  my  gate 

Dearest,  my  heart  is  desolate, 
Lo,  I  do  naught  but  wTatch  and  wait 
Until,  perchance,  you  come  again. 

For  if,  while  I  am  wraiting,  he 
Who  took  you  from  the  library 
Brings  you,  umbrella,  back  to  me. 
My  watching  shall  not  be  in  vain. 

—H.J.  O'Brien. 


66  CORNELL   VERSE. 


AN  ENCORE. 
I. 
A    PARLOR  bright 
"     With  fire-light; 
A  maiden  on  tip-toe; 
A  vision  fair, 
With  arms  in  air, 
She  twines  the  mistletoe. 

II. 

The  chandelier's 

Bright  polished  spheres 
Are  crowned  with  berries  white, 

A  ring  is  heard 

And  like  a  bird 
She  flutters  out  of  sight. 

III. 

A  manly  form 

In  ulster  warm 
The  next  room  occupies; 

From  pocket,  lo, 

Some  mistletoe 
He  draws  with  laughing  eyes. 

IV. 

Then  deftly  o'er 

The  curtained  door 
The  vine  is  hung  with  care, 

And  list'ning  ear 

Can  faintly  hear 
Her  footfall  on  the  stair. 


A  LOVER'S  SERENADE.  67 

V. 

The  toll  he  sips 

From  unspoiled  lips 
Ere  they  can  frame  a  "  No;" 

O  fleeting  bliss — 

A  stolen  kiss 
Beneath  the  mistletoe. 

VI. 

Remorseful  he, 

Indignant  she — 
But  grants  him  pardon's  boon. 

With  some  delay 

She  leads  the  way 
Into  the  other  room. 

VII. 
An  upward  glance — 
Could  it  be  chance  ? — 
Her  eyes  are  drooping  lower; 
What  could  he  do  ? 
Ah,  what  would  you 
But  render  an  encore  ? 

—James  Parker  Hall. 


A  LOVER'S  SERENADE. 

C  LEEP,  lady  mine,  at  thy  lattice  caressing 

The  breeze  flower  perfumed  shall  linger  and  die, 
A  nightingale  sings  in  the  distance  expressing 
A  music  the  ages  have  failed  to  outvie. 


68  CORNELL    VERSE. 

Sleep  sweet,  and  dream,  'tis  to  thee  he  is  singing — 
May  no  harsher  sounds  on  thy  dreams  ever  break — 

Though  the  Queen  Rose,  below  the  old  tree  where  he's 
swinging, 
Imagines  the  bird- song  is  all  for  her  sake. 

Dorothy  sleep,  for  thy  bedside  attending 

Good  angels  surround  and  will  guard  thee  from  harm — 
May  thy  life  so  be  nought  but  a  joy-dream  unending 

With  never  a  shadow  or  thought  to  alarm. 
Sleep  love,  the  breeze  at  thy  lattice  ablowing 

Is  a  lullaby  sung  to  my  love  by  the  night, 
And  the  stars  in  the  wide  arch  of  heaven  aglowing, 

Shall  echo  the  song  for  the  dreamer's  delight. 

— Edward  A.  Raleigh. 


HOMEWARD. 
VK/INDING  Cayuga  !  in  the  fading  light, 

As  south  we  bear  to  scenes  we  hold  most  dear, 
'Neath  the  red  west,  before  our  weary  sight 
The  ruddy  waters  of  thy  lake  appear. 

And  as  we  wind  by  shore  and  wooded  height, 
Far  up  the  steep,  where  first  the  darkness  falls, 

Backed  by  the  gloom,  penciled  upon  the  night, 
Hail  we  with  joy  our  Alma  Mater's  walls. 

— A.  G.  Eames. 


L  O  VE'S  RECOMPENSE.  69 


LOVE'S  RECOMPENSE. 

"  '  Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all." 

A   STRAIN  of  music  just  at  eventide; 

A  whisper  of  dead  sighs;  a  tender  face 

Brown  coronaled  and  queenly  in  its  pride; 
A  form  that  ever  starts  from  my  embrace, 
Yet  ever  haunts  me  with  its  maddening  grace; 

Past  years  that  live  again  in  memory's  glow — 
God  grant  that  I  forget  them  for  a  space, 

For  Daisy  has  forgotten  long  ago. 

The  purpled  ships  that  swam  the  outer  tide 

At  night,  at  dawn  have  gained  the  inner  space, 
And  safe  within  the  harbor  walls  they  ride. 

Then  on  the  deck  one  sees  a  longed-for  face; 

The  wandering  friend  returns  to  his  embrace. — 
I  cannot  hope  for  morning  since  I  know 

The  dream  is  false  with  all  its  winning  grace, 
For  Daisy  has  forgotten  long  ago. — 

Forgotten  how  I  lingered  by  her  side 

And  lived  but  in  the  sunshine  of  her  grace; 

Forgotten  !  Ah,  though  year  on  year  divide 

To-day  from  them;  though  mile  on  mile  of  space 
Between  us  lies,  I  still  can  see  her  face 

In  all  my  dreams,  and  cannot  overthrow 

The  idol  though  I've  lost  my  love's  embrace — 

For  Daisy  has  forgotten  long  ago. 


70  CORNELL    VERSE. 

V  ENVOI. 

Yet  Fate,  thou  hast  been  kind  to  show  her  face 
That  I  might  have  the  memory  of  its  grace. 
The  sun  is  set,  but  there's  the  afterglow, 
And  I  may  glory  in  its  light  a  space — 
Though  Daisy  has  forgotten  long  ago. 

—Edward  A.  Raleigh. 


REFLECTIONS.    '. 

I   INGERING  'neath  the  shaded  bower, 

I  view  the  scenes  so  old  and  dear. 
The  chimes  from  yonder  high  clock-tower 
Give  welcome  music,  soft  and  clear. 

The  scenes  are  old,  yet  life  is  new; 

For  early  friends  whom  first  we  found, 
Have  passed  the  little  cycle  through, 

And  left  to  us  the  open  ground. 

The  past  is  gone  beyond  control, 

The  future  only  beckons  you. 
Then  with  a  purpose  firm  and  bold 

We'll  enter  what  we  have  to  do. 

Though  most  of  us  a  sadness  feel, 

In  missing  friends  who've  gone  before, 

We'll  buckle  on  the  arms  of  steel, 
And  struggle  onward  as  of  yore. 

— Emma  S.  Miller. 


VICTORIBUS  SPOLIA  SUNT.  71 


WHEN  EVENING  FALLS. 

\X/HEN  evening  falls  what  joys  will  fade  away? 

What  thoughts  will  vanish  with  the  busy  day  ? 
What  hopeful  visions  of  the  night  before 
Await  to  haunt  us  at  the  chamber  door, 
When  evening  falls? 

To-day  is  fortune  open  unto  all, 
To-day  we  gaily  rise  or  sadly  fall. 
The  moments  fly,  what  cometh,  who  can  say, 
When  evening  falls? 

To-day,  to-day,  ambition  doth  arise  ? 
To-day,  to-day,  our  hopes  are  sunny  skies; 
And  swiftly  as  the  night-born  fancies  flee 
We  face  the  world,  and  stern  reality, 
And  scorn  to  fear  our  own  defeated  cries, 
When  evening  falls. 

— Norman  Hutchinson,  '97. 


VICTORIBUS  SPOLIA  SUNT. 

(Another  verse  of  a  familiar  song.) 
'"THERE  are  the  Freshmen,  we  know  them  too  ; 

They  are  a  good  class,  tried  and  true. 
I  have  heard  the  people  say 

When  they  go  to  heaven,  they  will  own  the  milky  way. 

—  Oscar  H.  Femback,  '96. 


72  CORNELL    VERSE. 


AN  IDYLL. 

T   stood  in  the  mellow  sunset's  glow, 

And  over  the  meadow,  rich  and  fair, 
Came,  as  conies  evening,  soft  and  slow 
The  tinkle  of  cow  bells,  sweet  and  clear. 

By  the  bars  I  stood,  with  the  golden  light 

Fading  but  slowly  on  the  view, 
As  I  looked  across  toward  the  sunset  bright, 

Whence  she  came,  quiet  as  evening  dew. 

At  length  she  stood  by  the  bars,  let  down, 
Gazing  at  me  with  reproachful  look. 

Her  eyes  were  large  and  tender  and  brown, 
And  I  read  them  plain  as  an  open  book. 

I  lifted  unhallowed  hands  to  her  brow, 

Caressing  as  only  a  lover  can, 
And  I  rubbed  her  ears,  that  old  brown  cow, 

For  I  was  the  milkman's  hired  man. 

—  Stanley  Shepard. 


PURGATORY  vs.  DRILL. 

CT.  Peter  stood  at  Heaven's  gate, 

With  golden  key  in  hand, 
When  came  a  spirit  worn  with  toil, 
Who'd  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil 
And  sought  the  Promised  Land. 


SOCIETY.  73 

Spake  Peter:  "  Ere  to  Paradise 

An  entrance  thou  canst  win, 
First  must  thou  prove  that  thou  hast  made, 
In  Purgatory's  gruesome  shade, 

Atonement  for  thy  sin." 

"Alas  !  "  the  spirit  cried,  '*  Of  grief 

My  cup  has  had  its  fill; 
I  was  a  student  at  Cornell, 
And  there,  unto  my  lot  there  fell 

Two  weary  years  at  drill  !  " 

' '  Enough  !  Enough  !  "  St.  Peter  cried, 

And  opened  wide  the  gate. 
And  may  these  lines  of  truth  sincere 
The  underclassmen  serve  to  cheer, 

Who  now  bemoans  his  fate. 

—  Oscar  H.  Femback. 


SOCIETY. 
COCIETY,  thy  fickle  hand 

Can  draw  another  to  thy  band, 
But  cast  him  out  in  case  he  be 
A  traitor  to  thy  maxims  three: 
First,  let  his  heart  be  cold  as  steel, 
But  coated  o'er  with  love  unreal; 
Then  let  his  hateful  pride  appear 
And  scorn  to  drop  the  poor  a  tear; 
Last,  let  him  pay  his  false  respect 
To  hide  his  reputation  wrecked. 

— Norman  Hutchinson,  'p/. 


74  CORNELL    VERSE. 


REJOICING. 

|  1NFURL  the  starry  banner 
And  fling  it  to  the  breeze; 
Let  everyone  be  joyful 

On  land  and  on  the  seas. 
No  more  I  live  in  sadness, 

I've  banished  fear  and  dread; 

You  ask  me,  why  this  gladness  ? 

Her father 's  bull-dog's  dead  ! 

— Oscar  H.  Fern  back. 


DIFFERENT. 
The  Youth: 

CAIR  rose,  I  envy  thee, 

And  wish,  that  in  thy  stead 
I  did  adorn  that  head; 
Then  I  content  would  be. 

The  Rose: 

Rash  youth,  beware  ! 
Wert  thou  but  in  my  place, 
And  didst  this  top-knot  grace, 
Thou  wouldst  find  out  apace 
She  wears  false  hair. 

— Oscar  H.  Fernback. 


COLLEGE  HEROES.  75 


AFTER  THE  BALL. 

A  FTER  the  ball  is  over, 

After  the  touch-down's  made, 
After  the  frenzied  slogans 

Into  the  silence  fade, 
Many  a  heart  grows  weary 
To  hear  the  umpire  call : 
"  Off-side  play  !     'Tis  not  allowed  ! 
Cornell  loses  the  ball  !  " 

—  Oscar  H.  Fernback. 


COLLEGE  HEROES. 

f^H,  blithe  was  the  morn  on  the  college  hill, 
^^^     And  the  sun  shone  never  so  clear; 

Its  beams  shot  now  o'er  the  hilltop's  brow, 
And  glinted  along  the  Frontenac's  prow, 
As  she  sped  out  lone  and  still. 

But  it's  not  of  the  lake  or  the  hill  I  sing, 
But  the  vale  that  lies  between ; 

And  part  thereof  where  the  breezes  sough, 
On  the  hardy  athletes  with  sinews  tough, 

As  they  sped  like  birds  on  the  wing. 

Where  the  noble  knight  of  the  oval  sphere, 
Strikes  boldly  through  the  lines, 
Bears  off  the  prize  before  the  eyes 
Of  his  weighty  opponent  of  twice  his  size, 

While  the  hills  echo  back  with  the  cheer. 


76  CORNELL    VERSE. 

And  when  each  one  of  those  twenty-two  men 
Regardless  of  each  other's  pain, 

Falls  on  his  frame  without  pity  or  shame, 

He  decides  to  himself  he  is  "  playing  the  game," 

But  will  never  know  health  again. 

They  bear  him  off  to  the  dressing  room, 
They  anxiously  wTatch  him  now; 

There's  a  vacant  stare  in  his  blue  eyes  fair, 
And  he  runs  his  hands  thro'  his  long,  dark  hair, 
As  if  rendering  a  sentence  with  cum. 

His  face  now  lights  with  a  sudden  shock, 
He  struggles  hard  to  speak; 

The  words  come  slow,  but  are  words  that  glow 
In  the  hearts  of  these  men  and  inspire  them  so, 
"  Can  I  go  to  Princeton,  Doc  ?  " 


We  honor  our  'leven,  we'll  stand  by  our  team, 
We've  faith  in  their  power  to  glide  up  the  stream; 
And  anon,  though  defeat  may  be  met,  yet  we  know 
That  adversity  comes  to  all  mortals  below, 
And  the  merit  is  here,  that  we  rise  up  unharmed, 
And  strike  out  and  onward  in  no  way  alarmed. 

—  Wendell  Melville  Strong. 


REVERIE. 
I  SAT  in  peaceful  silence, 

Within  my  old  armchair, 
And  heard  the  merry  evening  chimes 
Ring  out  upon  the  air  ; 


PASS/ON.  77 

But  as  their  song,  in  sweetest  tones, 

Came  floating  from  the  tower, 
'Twas  sudden  hushed,  and  all  was  still: 

The  clock  had  struck  the  hour. 

Too  oft,  alas,  before  on  earth 

Our  mission  is  fulfilled, 
Though  sweetest  then  its  music  sounds, 

Our  song  of  life  is  stilled. 
May  thy  sweet  symphony,  dear  heart, 

Attain  its  haven's  shore, 
Ere  the  bright  music  of  thy  soul 

Is  hushed  forever  more. 

— Oscar  H.  Fern  back. 


PASSION. 

CTORM  on,  bluster,  angry  gale; 

Roar  and  whistle,  shriek  and  wail; 
Tear  the  limbs  from  off  the  trees, 
Break  their  mangled  bodies;  seize 
Them  in  thy  giant  arms 
And  hurl  them  far  adown  the  vale. 

For  in  my  heart  are  wild  commotions; 
Heaves  my  breast  with  fierce  emotions; 
The  angry  passions  in  me  swell, 
Ah,  would  I  could  my  feelings  tell: 
Ah,  curse  him — may  all  harm 
Be  on  him— he  who  stole  my  umbrell. 

— Anon. 


78  CORNELL   VERSE. 


ALUMNI  SONG. 

|  AM  thinking  to-night  of  my  old  college  town, 
I  am  dreaming  of  days  that  have  flown, 

Of  the  joys  and  the  strife 

Of  my  old  college  life, 
Ah,  those  days  were  the  best  I  have  known. 

CHORUS. 

Then  here  is  the  toast  we  will  drink, 
A  good  rousing  health  to  Cornell, 

Let  your  glasses  clink, 

A  good  excuse  I  think; 
Is  a  toast  to  her  we  all  love  so  well. 

I  am  thinking  again  of  that  valley  so  sweet, 
I  am  dreaming  of  joys  that  were  fleet, 

Of  the  friends  that  I  knew 

By  that  lake  fair  and  blue, 
Ah  !  would  once  again  we  could  meet. — Cho. 

I'm  rejoicing  to-night  o'er  her  victories  again, 
Though  I  helped  not  the  triumph  to  gain; 

I  will  shout  with  my  might 

For  carnellian  and  white, 
And  her  honor  will  ever  maintain. — Cho. 

— Louis  Carl  Ehle. 


MYE  VALENTYNE.  79 


THAT  LOCKER  COMBINATION. 

'T^WAS  downstairs  in  the  Annex;  he  was  a  Freshman 

1  small, 

The  combination  of  his  lock  his  mind  would  not  recall, 
But  sadly  he  remembered,  how  the  very  day  before, 

He  wrote  that  combination,  on  the  inside  of  the  door. 

—  Oscar  H.  Eernback. 


WHO  IS  vSHE? 

CHE  isn't  an  angel, 
She  isn't  a  goddess, 
She  isn't  a  lily,  a  rose  or  a  pearl; 
She  is  simply  what's  sweetest, 
Completest,  and  neatest, 
A  dear  little,  sweet  little  girl. 


— Anon. 


MYE  VALENTYNE. 

I  TUNED  mye  lyre,  invoked  mye  muse 

To  wryte  a  valentyne, 
Ande  thoughte  to  sende  an  ofTerynge 
Woulde  gladde  mye  trew  hives  eyne, — 


8o  CORNELL    VERSE. 

I'de  draw  an  imagery e  in  wordes, 

In  wordes  woulde  picture  liowe 
Her  image  on  mye  hearte  was  stamped — 

Telle  her  mye  sweeteste  dreames, — Ande  howe 
I  fynde  thatte  alle  vayne  fymillies 

Have  van y shed  into  aire, 
For  fancy e's  selfe  cannot  descrybe 

Whatte  is  than  ne  alle  more  fay  re. 
For  howe  canne  starlyte's  sylver  glare 

Be  lykened  to  those  eyes 
Where  myrth  ande  gentlenesse  looke  forthe 

Ande  Trewths  deepe,  fyres,  aryse, 
Or  howe  to  a  lylie  whyte  thatte  browe 

Thatte  canne  with  womanne's  grace 
Speak  noble  thoughts,  or  fulle  as  ofte 

Bxpresse  sweet  sympathie; — her  face 
Howe  canne  I  lyke  to  summer's  skye 

Knowinge  cloudes  ofte  crosse  the  bleu 
Ande  cloudes  I  knowe  before  her,  smyle 

Woulde  vanysh  lyke  the  dewe! 
Though  muse  ande  fancye  bothe  forsake 

I  stylle  wille  notte  despaire, 
More  humbler  messengers  wille  I    ■ 

Employe  mye  thoughtes  to  bear. 
Iffe  Poesie  refuse  to  lende 

Her  magik  to  mye  penne, 
Whye  hones te  glasse  ande  quick-sylver, 

Shalle  calle  up  to  her  ken 
The  fayreste  vysion  of  them  alle 

Ande  there  before  her  eyes 
Shalle  she  beholde  mye  valentyne 

Inne  its  simplest  sweetest  guise. 


A  COLLEGE  ROWLNG  SONG.  81 

L'ENVOIE. 

So  a  mirrore  wille  I  sende  mye  luve 

My  sweetest  dreams  to  bear, 
Ande  seeinge  her  reflectione  in'te 

She'll  see  my  hearte  laved  bare! 

— Francis  Clay. 


A  COLLEGE  ROWING  SONG. 

C IRMLY  catch  and  swiftly  pull 

The  polished,  pliant,  springing  oar 
While  the  muscles  swell  out  full, 

And  the  heart  throbs  more  and  more; 
Up  the  stream  with  rhythmic  swing 

Sweet  as  music  in  the  night, 
While  the  straining  rowlocks  ring, 
And  the  blood  leaps  in  delight, 
With  the  old,  long  stroke, 
With  the  old,  long  stroke, 
That  shall  bring  us  in  as  winners,  boys, 
At  last. 

Soon  will  come  that  burning  day 

When  the  pistol  shot  will  crack, 
And  our  boat  will  rush  away, 

As  we  strain  each  brawny  back, 
Pulling  as  we  ne'er  before 

Pulled,  yet  still  with  form  and  grace,— 
Eve^  soul  in  every  oar, 

Flying  down  to  win  the  race, 


82  CORNELL    VERSE. 

With  the  old,  long  stroke, 
With  the  old,  long  stroke, 
That  shall  bring  us  in  as  winners,  boys, 
At  last. 

So,  when  rowing  here  is  done, 

And  we  seek  the  sea  of  life, 

Where  our  prizes  must  be  won 

In  a  swifter  stream  of  strife, 

We  shall  labor  as  of  yore, 

Grim  resolve  on  every  face, 
Bending  bravely  to  the  oar, 
Pulling  hard  to  win  the  race, 
With  the  old,  long  stroke, 
With  the  old,  long  stroke, 
That  shall  bring  us  in  as  winners,  boys, 
At  last. 


-W.J.  H. 


IN  JUNIOR  YEAR. 

IN  Junior  year,  ah,  fancies  light, 

The  soul  unfettered,  spirits  bright; 
Dwells  aught  of  doubt  or  fear  or  night 
In  Junior  year  ? 

The  storms  of  boyhood's  age  are  past, 
Youth's  doubts  and  fears  away  are  cast, 
And  budding  manhood  blooms  at  last, 
In  Junior  year. 


WITHIN  THE   VALLEY.  83 

Desiring  but  ourselves  to  please, 
On  every  impulse  light  we  seize  ; 
We  smoke  and  take  the  world  with  ease, 
In  Junior  year. 

But  'mid  the  smoke  wreaths  as  they  rise, 
With  light  as  soft  as  evening  skies, 
There  often  smiles  a  pair  of  eyes, 
In  Junior  year. 

And  as  at  dawn  the  brightness  breaks 
With  quickening  glow  o'er  summer  lakes, 
So  love  within  the  heart  awakes, 
In  Junior  year. 

—  William  Grant  Barney. 


WITHIN  THE  VALLEY. 

\X7ITHIN  the  valley,  wide  and  fair, 

The  meadows  stretch,  and  flows  then  thro' 
A  little  creek  with  winding  blue 
Swept  by  the  willows'  falling  hair. 
Soft  slopes  the  light,  a  glory  pale, 
From  burnished  hills  o'er  stream  and  dale. 

Within  the  valley  curves  a  lake 
Whose  waters  bright  with  sunshine  gleam 
And,  like  the  cadence  of  a  dream, 
Upon  the  shore  in  silver  break  ; 
And  'gainst  a  city's  restless  side, 
Ripples  from  dawn  till  eventide. 


CORNELL   VERSE. 

Within  the  valley,  church  bells  chime, 
And  thro'  its  purple  shroud  of  haze, 
Rises  unceasing  through  the  days 
The  busy  hum  of  passing  time. 
But  calmer  there  the  sunset  bright, 
And  silent  shine  its  lights  throughout  the  night. 

—  Oreo la  Williams. 


"SOMEBODY." 

COMEBODY  told  me,  one  bright  summer  day, — 

Was  he  in  earnest,  or  only  in  play  ? — 
"You're  an  angel,  my  darling !  "  I  turned  half  away 
But  I  couldn't  sav  "  No  sir."  Could  you? 


Somebody  said  that  the  moments  were  bliss 
Spent  by  the  side  of  a  certain  young  miss; 
Then  somebody  teased  for  "Just  one  little  kiss," 
And  I  couldn't  say  "  No  sir."    Could  you? 

Somebody  told  me  he  wanted  a  wife, 

To  be  only  somebody's  all  through  her  life; 

And  somehow  I  yielded  without  any  strife, 

For  somehow  I  couldn't  say,  "  No  sir. "  Could  you  ? 

—Anon. 


THREE  TRIOLETS.  85 

THREE  TRIOLETS. 
HE  (aside). 
CHE  looks  "  up  to  it,"  quite, 
Just  a  kiss  before  parting; 
If  I  read  her  aright, 

She  looks  "up  to  it,"  quite, 
Just  one  kiss — for  good-night; 

Dare  I  try  before  starting? 
She  looks  "  up  to  it,"  quite, 
Just  a  kiss  before  parting. 

She  (aside). 
Oh,  why  are  men  so  slow  ? 

Can't  he  see  that  I'm  waiting? 
Dear  !  he's  rising  to  go. 
Oh,  why  are  men  so  slow? 
If  he  could  only  know, 

He'd  not  stand  there  debating. 
Oh,  why  are  men  so  slow  ? 

Can't  he  see  that  I'm  waiting? 

Both  (several  minutes  later). 
Where's  the  harm  in  a  kiss, 

Just  one  kiss  for  good-night  ? 
If  it  comes  down  to  this, 
Where's  the  harm  in  a  kiss  ? 
We're  quite  sure  naught's  amiss, 

If  you  take  it  aright; 
Where's  the  harm  in  a  kiss, 

Just  one  kiss  for  good-night  ? 

—John  Alan  Hamilton. 


86  CORNELL    VERSE. 


OBLIVION'S  GATE. 


J  MET  the  Old  Year  in  the  night, 

Hurrying  up  a  mountain  height, 
Fleeing  as  from  a  world  of  woe, 
The  wretchedness  that  reigned  below. 
He  paused  a  moment  in  his  flight ; 
I  seized  his  hand  so  wan  and  white. 
"Tell  me,"  I  said,   "what  hast  thou  there 
In  that  urn  so  cold  and  rare?" 
He  showed  me  that  'twas  filled  with  parts 
Of  ruined  hopes  and  broken  hearts, 
Tears,  curses,  sighs  and  useless  vows — 
The  things  which  misery  allows 
To  man  to  voice  his  mad  remorse 
At  being  thwarted  in  his  course. 
As  he  fled  with  redoubled  haste 
Up  the  mountain's  dreary  waste, 
I  cried,  4 '  Wherefore  dost  thou  hasten  so 
Toward  the  realms  of  ice  and  snow?" 
No  reply  he  vouchsafed  me, 
But  in  the  dim  light  I  could  see 
Him  pointing  upward  and  afar, 
Where  guided  by  a  dying  star, 
I  saw  Oblivion's  Gate  ajar. 

— Frank  Madison  Lamed. 


TO  A  PICTURE.  87 


QUITE  POSSIBLE. 


'"THE  commandant  stands  shouting  "Dress!" 

The  bugler  winds  his  noisj'  din ; 
Our  sergeant,  opening  wide  his  mouth, 
Shouts  ' 4  Company — fall  in  ! " 


-Anon. 


TO  A  PICTURE. 

IN  other  days, — my  thoughts  retrace 

The  century  fled,  when  your  fair  face, 
In  antique  gilt  and  gold  now  set, 
Swayed  hearts  ensnared  by  witchery's  net. 
Your  eyes  smile  down;  care  left  no  trace. 

Nor  can  Time's  touch  those  charms  efface; 
With  step  sedate  and  courtly  grace 
You  danced  the  stately  minuet 
In  other  days. 

Now  dim  with  age  the  snowy  lace, 
For  flying  years  speed  on  apace. 
At  times  there  comes  a  vague  regret 
That  hearts  grow  cold  and  men  forget 
That  vanished  charms  held  regal  place, 
In  other  days. 

— Herbert  Eugene  Millholen. 


CORNELL    VERSE. 


PURPLE  BLOSSOMS. 

A    BABE  sleeps  under  the  lilac-tree, 

And  coos  in  dreams  a  childish  glee, 
Till  from  a  purple  petal-rim 
A  dew-drop  falling  wakens  him. 

A  youth  waits  under  the  lilac-tree ; 
The  moon  glides  over  silently. 
Along  the  mottled  vineyard  slope 
A  shadow  flits  to  mock  his  hope. 

A  man  strides  under  the  lilac-tree; 
He  crushes  its  branches  heedlessly, 
Not  seeing  'neath  the  scented  crest 
A  songster's  feather-tufted  nest. 

The  west  wind  moans  through  the  lilac-tree, 
And  sets  the  last  dead  heart-leaf  free ; 
l^he  whirling  leaf  swift  eddies  round, 
And  rests  upon  a  new-made  mound. 

— Anon, 


THE  WIDOW. 

( Fall  term.  ) 

IN  smart  array  of  black  and  white, 

With  mirth  in  every  feature, 
With  comment  keen  and  laughter  light, 
A  merry,  mocking  creature; 


THE  WIDOW. 

Demure  and  coy,  with  subtle  art, 

That  drives  to  desperation, 
The  Widow,  bless  her  girlish  heart, 

Is  quite  a  new  creation. 

She's  fond  of  wholesome  college  sport, 

And  everything  that's  jolly; 
She  does  not  like  the  student  court, 

It  makes  her  melancholy ; 
The  Error  last  year  woke  her  mirth, 

She  ridiculed  it  gaily ; 
And  now  beyond  all  things  on  earth 

She  giggles  at  the  Daily. 

A  toast  to  her,  the  lovely  lass, 

The  queen  of  jest  and  pleasure; 
Fill  to  the  brim  the  crystal  glass ; 

Be  heedless  of  the  measure. 
A  toast  to  her,  the  laughing  jade, 

Of  merriment  so  clever, 
And  these  words  with  the  health  be  said, 

"The  Widow  live  forever." 

(P.  S.— Winter  term.  ) 

Alas !  since  first  I  sang  her  praise, 

With  fervor  grateful-hearted, 
The  Widow  from  her  wonted  ways 

Has  suddenly  departed. 
She  had  her  faults,  declares  the  Sun 

(The  Sun  man  speaks  sincerely), 
But  now  that  her  brief  course  is  run, 

We  find  we  loved  her  dearly. 


90  CORNELL   VERSE. 

(P.  P.  S. — Spring  term.  ) 
But  no,   it  was  a  false  alarm ; 

Once  more  rejuvenated, 
The  Widow  with  her  old-time  charm, 

Confronts  a  world  elated ; 
Once  more  she  comes  with  saucy  mien. 

To  banish  melancholy, 
And  reign,  the  undisputed  queen, 

Of  academic  folly. 


-Anon, 


WHY  IS  IT? 
A^/HEN  girls  are  ugly  babies, 

Their  mammas  quite  insist, 
That  they  by  us,  against  our  wills, 
Be  kissed — kissed — kissed. 

But  when  the  girls  are  sweet  sixteen, 

Then  mammas  say  we  shan't, 
And  though  we'd  like  to  kiss  them  then, 

We  can't — can't — can't. 

—James  Henry  Gannon,  Jr. 


THE  REGISTRAR. 
(To  D.  F.  H.  ) 
AX/ITH  awe  the  Freshman  looks  to  thee 

When  busted  past  all  hope ; 
In  eyes  as  verdant  fresh  as  his 
'  Art  mightier  than  the  Pope. 


THE  JIMS.  91 

The  "Sophie"  too  has  reverence  much 

For  power  that  is  thine. 
He  ne'er  forgets  the  nuggets  delved 

In  sad  experiences'  mine. 

The  Junior,  far  too  happy  man, 

He  has  no  use  for  thee ; 
From  moorings  loosed,  his  gallant  ship 

Glides  o'er  the  smiling  sea. 

The  Senior,  with  his  thesis  grand  — 

As  usual  ever  late, 
A  suppliant  bends  the  knee  to  thee, 

He  must — to  graduate. 

—James  Henry  Gannon,  Jr. 


THE  JIMS. 
(After  Victor  Hugo.  ) 
F\ARK  night, 

No  sound, 
Nor  light; 

The  ground 
Lies  dead; 

No  bird 
O'er  head 

Is  heard. 

Throughout  the  hall 
A  murmur  grows ; 

Along  the  walls 
A  whisper  blows ; 


92  CORNELL   VERSE. 

Through  cracks  unknown, 
The  voices  low, 

With  stifled  moan, 
Rush  to  and  fro ! 


A  gruesome  shape  appears, 

Of  weird  uncertain  size, 
With  mouth  that  gaps  and  leers, 

And  huge  revolting  eyes; 
WTingless  it  flies  and  floats, 

It  circles  round  the  bed ; 
With  grasping  talons  gloats 

O'er  my  besodden  head! 

And  now  the  door  flies  open  wide; 

A  horned  toad  comes  gliding  through; 
A  Gila  monster  crawls  beside 

A  rabbit  that  is  green  and  blue ; 
An  anaconda  spreads  his  wings; 

Huge  bats  begin  to  howl  and  roar, 
While  ghastly,  sightless,  snake-like  things 

Go  hopping,  writhing  round  the  floor! 

The  mattress  from  my  head  is  fiercely  torn  ; 

The  hideous  circle  closer  gathers  round ; 
Across  my  face  their  burning  breath  is  borne ; 

Howls,  groans,  hisses,  shrieks  resound ; 
Black  cats,  offsprings  of  those  that  haunted  Poe, 

Come  gliding  past,  with  weird  uncanny  moan  ; 
Colossal  spiders  o'er  my  body  go; 

My  very  blood  congeals — my  heart's  a  stone! 


THE  JIMS.  93 

Alive  or  dead,  I  know  nor  care ; 

My  tortured  head,  I  dare  not  raise, 
Until  a  feeble  breath  of  air 

Disturbs  the  foul  sulphuric  haze ; 
And  gazing  with  distending  eyes, 

Where  writhed  the  monsters  on  the  floor, 
With  harsh,  rebellious,  fiendish  cries, 

I  see  them  sliding  toward  the  door! 

And  through  the  portal  wide, 

The  jostling,  crowding  throng 
Of  demons  side  by  side, 

Crawls  hurriedly  along ; 
They  vanish  from  my  sight, 

With  cowed  discordant  growls, 
And  through  the  waning  night, 

I  hear  their  mournful  howls ! 

Far  down  the  hall 

The  murmurs  go ; 
The  voices  call 

In    whispers   low; 
Then  die  away, 

And  slowly   cease— 
The  welcome  day 

Begins  in  peace. 

The  strife 

No  more; 
New  life 

Creeps  o'er 


94  CORNELL   VERSE. 

My  limbs ; 

'Tis  dawn  ; 
The  Jims 

Are  gone. 


-F.  A.  N. 


WAITING. 
LJOW  slowly  lengthen  the  shadows! 

Will  never  the  sun  go  down? 
For  Bessie,  my  love,   is  coming 
Across  the  moor  from  the  town. 

At  the  stile  she  promised  to  meet  me — 
'Tis  the  golden  time  of  the  year — 

Set  of  sun  !     Be  still,  O  my  heart, 
And  wait,  for  the  dawn  is  near ! 

— Norman  Hutchinson. 


THE  COMING  OF  GITCHEKWASIND. 

(An  Indian  Legend.) 
MIGHT  has  fallen  o'er  the  valley, 

In  the  forest  aisles  gloom  crept, 
As  the  wild  Cayugan  warriors 
Round  their  wigwam  fires  slept. 

Slept  they  restless,  for  dark  rumors 

Of  red  foemen  stealing  slow 
Had  come  flying  to  their  forests 

From  the  distant  Pecquemo. 


THE  COMING  OF  GITCHEKWASIND.      95 

In  his  dreams  their  great  chief  Kenwah 

Saw  dark  faces  thro'  the  trees, 
Heard  the  war  cry  in  the  distance 

Floating  on  the  evening  breeze; 

While  his  daughter  Wissanita, 

With  her  deep  eyes  veiled  in  sleep, 

To  the  brave  tumult  of  battle 
Felt  her  maiden  pulses  leap. 

And  she  woke  in  fear  and  horror, 

Soft  up  through  the  silent  night 
Rose  her  prayerful  ' '  Oh,  Great  Spirit, 

Help  my  people  by  Thy  might!" 

But  when  waxed  the  hour  to  midnight 

All  the  forests'  glades  awoke 
And  the  piercing  cries  of  battle 

Thro'  the  silvan  silence  broke. 

Leaped  then  to  his  feet  each  warrior, 

Grasped  the  tomahawk  and  knife, 
Answering  cry  with  cry  more  savage 

Dashed  into  the  angry  strife. 

Long  and  desperate  'mid  the  shadows 
Raged  that  clamorous  combat  dread, 

Raged  until  the  dawn  broke  coldly 
O'er  the  faces  of  the  dead. 

And  the  great  sun  rose  in  glory, 
Flushed  with  light  the  Eastern  sky, 

Threw  his  beams  across  the  waters — 
As  they  softly  rippled  by. 


96  CORNELL    VERSE. 

And  to  Ken  wall,  chief  of  redmen, 
And  his  wild  Cayugan  braves 

Brought  he  victory,  to  the  conquered 
Brought  sad  burial  'neath  the  waves. 

Wissanita  watched  his  rising, 
On  her  pale  face  felt  his  glow. 

* 'Gitche  Manitau,  I  thank  thee 
For  thy  light!"  she  whispered  low. 

And  she  brushed  aside  her  tresses 
Flowing  darkly  'round  her  face, 

Sprang  amid  the  tangled  verdure 
'Till  she  reached  the  battle  place. 

Lay  the  trailing  brake  down  trampled, 
Scattered  wide  the  leaves  she  found, 

And  the  flowers  of  blood  and  carnage 
Blossomed  red  upon  the  ground. 

Huddled  close  and  bound  securely 
Stood  the  Indian  captives  stern, 

In  their  eyes  she  saw  the  fires 
Of  a  helpless  anger  burn. 

Gazed  she  long  upon  their  faces, 
In  her  bosom  memories  rose 

Of  her  brother,  slain  and  sleeping 
Where  the  Big  Sea  Water  flows. 

By  the  lake  great  Kenwah  rested, 
Praised  his  tomahawk  with  pride, 

Counted  o'er  the  scalps,  his  trophies, 
Hanging  crimson  by  his  side. 


THE  COMING  OF  GITCHEKWASIND.      97 

"Ugh,   'tis  well  that  we  have  conquered, 

Many  scalps  and  captives  won, 
Let  the  youths  and  squaws  make  merry 

When  they  see  what  braves  have  done. 

1 '  We  have  taken  old  Osceomo 

The  Sewhalla's  aged  chief, 
Many  braves  would  die  full  valiant 

To  but  proffer  him  relief. 

"And  the  stalwart  Gitchekwasind, 

Let  him  shudder  o'er  his  fate, 
For  to-night  the  torture  fires 

Will  my  vengeance  satiate. ' ' 

Thus  spoke  Kenwah;  when  he  ended 

Came  his  daughter,  passing  fair, 
Came  his  daughter,  Wissanita, 

vSmiling  through  her  floating  hair. 

And  she  cried,   "Oh,  Kenwah,  father, 

Waywassimo  lives  once  more, 
I  have  found  him,  'mid  thy  captives, 

Bound  and  helpless  on  the  shore. 

"Come,"  she  said,  and  sprang  before  him, 

Kenwah  followed,  stern  and  grave, 
Till  they  reached  young  Gitchekwasind, 

Stood  before  the  captive  brave. 

Then  great  Kenwah  looked  and  trembled, 

Stood  in  silence  in  his  place, 
Waywassimo 's  eyes  flashed  at  him 

From  the  stranger's  haughty  face. 


98  CORNELL   VERSE. 

And  the  wild  Cayugans  gathered, 
Saw  the  likeness,  murmuring  said, 

1  ■  Manitou  alone  has  power 

Thus  to  borrow  from  the  dead. ' ' 

Wissanita,  listening,  answered, 
"Manitou  can  all  things  give, 

Waywassimo  died  in  battle, 

But  must  Gitchekwasind  live?" 

And  she  loosed  the  captive's  fetters, 
Then  spoke  Kenwah,  "Well  for  thee 

That  thou  favor  Waywassimo  : 
Gitchekwasind,  thou  art  free. 

' '  Go  in  peace,  yet  stay,  my  people 

Long  have  mourned  their  chieftain's  son, 

Stay  and  be  to  mighty  Kenwah, 
Eyes  to  see  and  feet  to  run. ' ' 

And  the  warrior  answered  proudly, 
"Gitchekwasind  thanks  thee,  chief, 

Scattered,  suffering  are  my  people, 
Grant  to  them  but  sure  relief, 

"And  I'll  smoke  with  thee  the  peace  pipe, 
Live  beneath  thy  wigwam's  shade, 

Grant  but  this  and  give  me,  Kenwah, 
For  my  squaw  this  noble  maid.  M 

Flushed  the  cheeks  of  Wissanita, 
Like  the  wild  flower  crimson  grew, 

And  she  veiled  her  eyes  dark  splendor, 
Sudden  joy  her  young  heart  knew. 


i    ...  I 

r 

>r 

sfs 

( 

p-N"    ■      '. 

THE  COMING  OF  GITCHEKWASIND.       99 

Kenwah  looked  upon  her,  smiling, 

"Gitchekwasind,  all  is  well; 
Wampum  will  I  send  thy  people, 

Thou  with  us  shalt  joyous  dwell. 

"And  this  maid  shall  be  thy  comfort, 

In  thy  wigwam  sing  all  day, 
Constant  labor  in  thy  cornfields, 

Plait  the  reeds  and  grasses  gay. ' ' 

So  said  Kenwah,  Ishgoo  added, 

1 '  Good  the  deed  that  thou  hast  done, 

For  perchance  this  youth  may  struggle 
With  the  Palefaced  Coming  One. 

"Kenwah  will  be  old  and  powerless 

A  spent  fire,  a  faded  name, 
Gitchekwasind's  arm  will  threaten, 

Answer  nobly  flash  with  flame." 

Passed  the  day  in  deep  rejoicing, 
Passed  to  many  a  song's  gay  thrill, 

But  when  sunset  dyed  the  heavens 
All  grew  strangely  hushed  and  still. 

On  the  shore  with  Wassanita 

Gitchekwasind  stood  alone 
And  their  spirits  blended  gently 

With  the  autumn  wind's  light  moan. 

Peace  lay  o'er  the  blended  heavens, 

Brooded  on  Cayuga's  breast, 
And  the  hearts  of  youth  and  maiden 

Brimmed  with  love's  most  perfect  rest. 

— Oreo  la  Williams,  'gy. 


ioo  CORNELL    VERSE. 


THE  RINGING  OF  THE  CHIMES. 

f^AYUGA'S  vale  is  ringing 

With  chimes  so  sweet  and  clear, 
Through  rocky  clefts  and  gorges 

They  echo  far  and  near; 
They  mingle  with  the  music 

Of  many  a  waterfall; 
Their  melody's  the  sweetest 

Our  memory  can  recall. 

They  clang  on  winter  mornings 

Upon  the  frosty  air, 
And  summon  throngs  of  students, 

To  wait  on  learning  fair; 
And  borne  upon  the  breezes, 

They  float  o'er  hill  and  dale, 
To  many  a  distant  hamlet 

In  fair  Cayuga's  vale. 

And  when  the  twilight  shadows 

Upon  the  valley  fall, 
They  sing  in  gentle  cadence 

The  sweetest  song  of  all. 
They  sing  'mid  fairy  moonlight, 

And  star-lit  groves  and  bowers, 
A  song  of  youth  and  beauty; 

Those  joyful  bells  of  ours. 

Cornell's  alumni  wander 

To  every  state  and  clime, 
All  ill  their  memory  bearing 

The  echo  of  that  chime; 


TO  THE  RAIN.  k 

And  as  it  tinkles  faintly, 

They  see  Cayuga's  dell; 
And  shout  with  sudden  gladness, 

"Cornell,  I  yell— Cornell  !  " 

— Alexander  Otis, 


TO  THE  RAIN. 
DATTER,  soft  patter,  in  rhymthic  refrain, 

While  I  list  to  thy  cadence,  O  musical  rain. 
Quenched  are  the  fires  that  burn  in  the  blue, 
Drenched  are  the  meadows  stretched  far  past  the  blue, 
Dim  thro'  the  night  float  thy  garments  of  mist, 
Moist  is  the  pane  that  thy  soft  lips  have  kissed; 
Patter,  soft  patter,  in  gentle  refrain, 
While  I  dream  to  thy  measures,  O  musical  rain. 

Patter,  soft  patter,  . 

My  lady's  asleep. 
Fair  o'er  the  pillow  her  silken  locks  creep; 
Veiled  are  the  deep,  silent  wells  of  her  eyes 
As  she  dreams  of  Love's  dawning  in  Youth's  rosy  skies. 

Patter,  soft  patter. 

Patter,  soft  patter,  in  gentle  refrain, 
Soothe  her  and  woo  her,  O  musical  rain. 
Teach  her  that  sunshine  in  shadow  must  swoon; 
That  clouds  blow  across  the  gold  disk  of  the  moon; 
That  life  must  be  gloomed  by  the  gray  mists  of  pain; 
But  that  Love  still  endures  thro'  the  storm  and  the  rain. 

Patter,  soft  patter,  nor  woo  her  in  vain. 

Gentle,  persistent,  low  murmuring  rain. 

—  Oreola  Williams ',  '97. 


CORNELL    VERSE. 


THE  RACE. 
A  LONG  the  way  one  Springtime  day 

I  rode— a  maid  beside  me. 
The  violets  blue,  the  myrtles  too, 
Shone  as  her  eyes  defied  me. 

"  You  idle  stand  and  ask  my  hand! 
I'  faith  a  daring  lover! 
Could  you  beat  me  to  yon  oak  tree 
I'd  give  thee  it  forever." 

We  raced  along  the  breeze  was  strong, 
Her  streaming  hair  gleamed  brightly; 

Her  figure  bent  with  all  intent; 
Her  steed  she  guided  lightly. 

No  chance  had  I.     She  seemed  to  fly 

Or  ride  a  steed  enchanted. 
She  reached  the  oak  and  thus  she  spoke 

As  I  her  victory  granted: 

"  I've  won  the  race,  and  yet  the  grace 
Of  victory  shall  be  yours. 
Take  now  my  hand;  at  your  command 
'Twill  be  while  life  endures." 

— Anon. 
o 

CASTLE  BUILDING. 
\  A/E  wandered  down  the  deep  ravine 

When  sunset  flowers  were  redly  glowing, 
And  all  the  vale  with  purple  sheen 
And  golden  smoke  was  overflowing, 


DAISIES.  103 

The  mountain's  slopes  were  still  ablaze, 
The  tree-tops  burned  like  waving  torches, 

And  rainbow  rays  of  rosy  haze 

Were  flushing  all  the  woodland  porches. 

So,  hand  in  hand,  we  rested  still, 

And  upward  looked  through  sunset  splendor — 
So,  heart  in  heart,  in  loving  thrill, 

Grew  mute  beneath  the  glamor  tender; 
And  thus  we  built,  with  painted  mist, 

Our  castles  grand  from  floor  to  coping, 
Until  the  last  low  sunbeam  kissed 

The  gray  ravine,  and  left  us— groping. 

Ah  me,  my  love!  the  darkness  falls 

Full  soon,  to  shroud  our  brightest  dreaming; 
And  golden  roofs  and  crystal  walls 

Are  based,  full  oft,  on  cloudy  seeming. 
But  hand  in  hand,  and  heart  with  heart, 

We  twain  abide  the  twilight  hoary, 
And  wait  until  the  shadows  part 

That  hide  from  us  our  house  of  glory. 

—F. 


W 


DAISIES. 

AND'RING  through  the  fields  together— 

Phillida  and  I 
Gathered  daisies  shining  brightly 

'Neath  the  summer  sky. 


104  CORNELL   VERSE. 

Phillida,  with  hair  as  golden 

As  the  daisy's  heart, 
Glancing  archly  as  she  did  so, 

Pulled  the  flowers  apart. 

"  One  I  love,"  she  whispered  softly. 

"  Would  'twere  I,"  I  said, 
"Two  I  love,"  her  voice  continued. 

"Fickle,  fickle  maid!" 

"Three  I  love,  I  say,"  was  murmured. 

M  Thou'rt  inconstant  Miss!" 
"  Four  I  love—"  but  then  I  stopped  her — 

Stopped  her  with  a  kiss. 

"  Phillida,  now  tell  me  truly, 

Dost  thou  love  me,  say  ?" 
"  Thee  I  love  with  all  my  heart  and 

Ne'er  will  cast  away." 

— R.  0.  S 


CLOUDLAND. 

/^\FTEN  you  have  seen  at  sunset, 

^^^     O'er  a  hilltop  far  away, 

When  the  sky  behind  was  brightened 

With  the  red  of  dying  day, 
How  a  cloud,  as  o'er  it  hovered, 

Seemed  another  hill  to  you 
But  because  'twas  nearer  heaven 

Fairer  seemed  and  far  more  true. 


OUR  BUD.  105 

So,  one  day,  while  straying  westward, 

With  the  sunset  'fore  me  spread, 
Met  I  maidens  coming  toward  me, 

Wand'ring  whither  fancy  led; 
One  in  passing  gave  a  greeting, — 

'Twas  kind  Friendship's  utterance, — 
But  the  other  silent  met  me, 

Aye,  but  gave  me  one  sweet  glance! 

Dear  as  was  the  spoken  greeting, 

Dearer,  glance  so  shyly  cast! 
Friendship's  sun  shone  on  the  first  one; 
It  was  Love  illumed  the  last. 

— Anon. 


OUR  BUD. 

/^UR  Bud  is  home  from  college 
^>^     Ez  slick  as  he  can  be, 
He  knows  about  a  hundred  times 
More'n  Sary  Ann  or  me. 

He  wears  a  standin'  collar, 
An'  necktie  solid  white, 

An'  says  them  siety  germans 
Is  simply  out  of  sight. 

An'  he  aint  half  as  bashful 
Ez  all  his  brothers  wuz, 

An'  smokes  his  segarettes 
Like  city  fellers  does. 


106  CORNELL    VERSE. 

He's  bound  to  climb  the  ladder 
Away  up  purty  high, 

An's  sure  to  be  an  engineer 
I  'spect  some  day,  or  try. 


-Anon. 


THE  STUDENT. 
[   IFE  is  full  drear!  I  fain  would  slay 
For  very  spleen  this  piteous  clay, 
Reject  false  hope,  renounce  the  dream 
Of  seeming  goals  that  only  seem, 
Give  o'er  a  quest  with  gloom  so  rife 
And  win  for  aye  an  end  of  strife, 
Were't  not  for  thee,  thou  more  than  life! 

For  when  at  times  an  eager  thought 

Broods  over  what  may  yet  be  wrought 

From  out  the  mystic  years  to  be 

To  guerdon  tireless  industry — 

Poor  things,  mayhap,  yet  time  might  see 

Them  dear,  for  my  sake,  .sweet,  to  thee 

Shouldst  thou  at  all  be  near  to  me — 

Such  sight  anon  reheartens  hope 

And  makes  an  erstwhile  boundless  scope 

Close  down  to  narrow  limits,  such 

As  hold  no  height  from  Passion's  touch, 

No  magic  lore-depth  but  will  give 

Its  best  as  L,ove's  prerogative — 

And  thus  for  thee,  pure  heart,  I  live. 

A  71071. 


BALLAD  OF  DEADHEAD  HILL.         107 

IN  THE  LIBRARY, 
t  fcHTELL  me,  maiden  debonair, 
Tell  me,  fondly  pleading, 
Who's  the  man  that  sits  up  there, 
With  the  face  so  soft  and  fair, 
And  the  black  and  beauteous  hair, 
Who  surveys  with  haughty  stare 
Everyone  here  reading.?  " 

"  You  mean  the  fellow  with  the  air 

Of  a  girl  of  Boston  ? 
With  a  smile  like  angels  wear? 
He's  a  bird  of  plumage  rare, 
Though  his  beard's  in  need  of  care; 
He  and  Simpson  make  a  pair — 

That  is  Willy  Austin." 

—  Ghost. 


BALLAD  OF  DEADHEAD  HILL. 

\X7HERE  Cornell  athletes  win  their  fame 

There  is  a  game  to-day,  and  see 
How  crowds  throng  in  to  see  the  game 

Just  as  the  clock  is  striking  three. 
The  players  enter  silently, 

The  slogan  rises  sharp  and  shrill 
And  echoes  back  triumphantly 

From  those  who  sit  on  Deadhead  Hill. 


io8  CORNELL   VERSE. 

We  all  agree  it  is  a  shame 

They  should  behold  a  contest  free 
For  which  we  pay,  but  just  the  same 

We  feel  a  silent  sympathy. 
And  should  the  game  a  poor  one  be, 

We  envy  those  whose  spirits  thrill 
WTith  joy  that  they  had  paid  no  fee, 

But  watched  the  game  from  Deadhead  Hill. 

So  let  us  not  too  rudely  blame 

Those  who  do  so  from  poverty, 
Who  from  these  heights  behold  a  game 

They  else  could  not  afford  to  see. 
Loyal  they  always  prove  to  be; 

So  may  the  summits  ever  fill 
With  those  who  chorus  lustily 

Cornell's  applause  from  Deadhead  Hill. 

l'Envoi. 
What's  that !  a  visitor  for  me  ? 

Oh,  yes,  my  tailor  with  his  bill; 
I'll  have  to  watch  the  game,  I  see, 
This  afternoon,  from  Deadhead  Hill. 

—  Ghost. 


FOUND!  ON' THE  CAMPUS. 

CILVHR  buckle, 

Silken  ribboned, 
Found  upon  the  campus  walk, 
What  peculiar 
Things  you'd  tell  us 
If  your  silver  tongue  could  talk. 


ON  THE  SHORE  AT  NIGHT.  109 

Who  is  it 

Has  claimed  your  service? 

Breathe  her  name,  oh,  tell  me  who! 

Let  me  know 

Who  lost  you,  be  she 

High-born  Miss  or  Kappa  Mu! 

Silence  still  ?     Well, 

I  will  keep  you, 

Hang  you  as  a  trophy  fair 

On  my  study  wall,  among 

Your  sister  trophies  hanging  there. 

—  Willie  Green. 


VESPERTINE. 

THE  organ  tones  are  dying  through  the  temple, 

The  rolling  anthem  trembles  on  the  air, 
The  white-stoled  choir,  with  lowly  mien  and  humble, 
Have  bowed  their  heads  to  list  the  vesper  prayer. 

A  hush!  the  bells  the  sunset  hour  are  pealing, 
The  blazoned  windows  glow  with  western  flame, 

From  unseen  heights  o'er  every  soul  are  stealing 
Paeans  to  old  Cornell's  unfading  name. 

— Anon 


ON  THE  SHORE  AT  NIGHT. 

\  \  /E  think  too  seldom  of  the  stars, 

And  live  too  near  ourselves, 
And  hear  too  rare  the  waves  beat  on  the  bars 
Of  the  unending  sea. 


CORNELL   VERSE. 

We  make  the  little  circle  of  our  influence 

The  marge  of  all  of  worth, 
Nor  realize  the  telescope's 

Small  end  is  toward  the  earth. 

— Louis  Carl  Ehle. 


FAIR  BUT  FALSE. 

4  t  IT  AVE  you  forgotten  " — soft  I  said, 
11  That  night  three  years  ago — 
I  coaxed  you  for  a  lock  of  hair?'* 
"  Forgotten  it?     Oh,  no!" 

M  It  was  a  lovely  curl  that  played 
About  your  forehead  fair; 
I've  treasured  it  through  all  these  years-»- 
That  little  lock  of  hair; 

"  Thro'  all  these  years  I've  kept  it  in 

A  pocket  of  my  vest." 
"  You've  really  kept  it  ?    So  have  I, 

That  is,  I've  kept  the  rest. 

M  'Tis  pinned  up  now  upon  the  wall, 
And  often  still  we  laugh, — 
My  friends  and  I, — about  the  man 
Who  stole  the  other  half; 

"  For  on  that  oft  remembered  night 
You  spoiled,  without  a  pang, — 
Yes,  absolutely  ruined,  sir, 
My  new  imported  bang." 

—Edward  Michael  Burns. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  CHIMES. 


THE  SENSATIONAL  REPORTER. 

/^VER  the  campus,  through  the  city, 

Like  a  gathering  storm, 
Venting  scandal,  brewing  discord, 
Speeds  a  fleeting  form. 

Cursed  with  oaths,  bruised  with  blows, 

Never  asking  quarter, 
Yet  he  goes  and  gets  the  news — 

Sensational  reporter! 

—  Theron  Dexter  Davis. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  CHIMES. 

UROM  out  the  lofty  tower 

In  the  early  morning's  light, 
The  chimes  are  pealing  a  glad  farewell 
To  the  gloomy  shades  of  night. 

The  master  stands  at  the  key-board, 

And  neath  his  skillful  hand 
The  bells  ring  out — now  soft  and  low; 

Now  echoing  through  the  land. 

And  as  he  plays,  he  ponders 

In  gay  or  solemn  vein, 
Till  thoughts  far,  far  too  deep  for  words 

Creep  into  the  bell's  sweet  strain. 


CORNELL    VERSE. 

But  the  busy,  thoughtless,  hurrying  throng, 

Filled  with  the  cares  of  the  day, 
Give  little  heed  to  their  cadences, 

As  they  haste  upon  their  way. 

What  though  the  hand  that  moves  the  keys 

Be  gay  to-day — or  sad  ? 
What  care  they,  though  the  undertone 

Be  mournful,  now,  or  glad  ? 

Yet  'mid  the  hurrying,  jostling  throng 

There  is,  perchance,  sometimes 
A  soul  that  listens,  and  responds, 

To  the  spirit  of  the  chimes. 

— Edward  Michael  Burns. 


A  STUDENT'S  TOIL. 
4  t  \  A/HY  is  it  that  from  yonder  tower 

The  student's  lamp  is  burning  still, 
Tho'  it  is  past  the  midnight  hour, 
And  sleep  is  brooding  on  East  Hill?" 

"Is  it  for  old,  historic  lore, 

Or  modern  science  he  would  seek; 
Or  strives  he  now  his  mind  to  store 

With  learning  from  the  classic  Greek  ?" 

"  'Tis  not  the  wisdom  of  the  sages 

Or  science  fair  that  him  enchants; 
An  earthlier  task  his  time  engages — 

He's  sewing  buttons  on  his  pants." 

—Jared  Van  Wagenen,Jr. 


"FAR  ABOVE  CAYUGA'S  WATERS."      113 


O  MY  PIPE. 

MEERSCHAUM,  meerschaum, 

Born  of  the  sea, 
Dearest  of  all  things 
Thou  art  to  me. 

Comrade,  comrade, 

Better  than  shrine; 
Thoughts  leap  from  my  heart, 

As  smoke  curls  from  thine. 

Meerschaum,  meerschaum, 

Aid  to  reflection, 
Dissolve  all  my  blues, 

Remove  my  dejection. 

— Kennedy  Furlong  Rubert. 


"FAR  ABOVE  CAYUGA'S  WATERS." 

\  A/HERE  do  students  strive  for  learning, 

Strive  with  all  a  scholar's  yearning; 
With  the  Oxford  cap  scholastic, 
With  a  life  and  mien  monastic  ? 
Where  the  breezes  blow  the  strongest, 
Where  the  sun's  rays  linger  longest, 
Where  earth's  mantle  seems  the  newest, 
Where  Cayuga's  blue  seems  bluest — 
"  Far  above  Cayuga's  waters." 


H4  CORNELL   VERSE. 

Where  do  students  do  their  wooing, 
All  their  billing  and  their  cooing, 
With  a  maiden  sage,  yet.  willing, 
Life  to  blissful  measure  filling  ? 
Where  the  pines  are  ever  sighing, 
Where  the  falls'  roar  never  dying, 
Where  men  love  to  pause  and  ponder, 
Where  men  love  to  rest  or  wander — 
"  Far  above  Cayuga's  waters." 

— Kennedy  Furlong  Rubert. 


TO  A  ROSE. 


\X7ITHERED  rose  before  me  lying, 

How  you  send  my  thoughts  a  flying 
To  the  past  that  sets  me  sighing 
O'er  a  vision  fair. 

Of  a  woman  tall  and  queenly, 

Wondrous  fair,  and  tall,  and  seemly, 

Standing  proudly  and  serenely 
On  the  landing  stair. 

Rose,  all  thy  beauty  has  left  thee, 

Years  of  color  have  bereft  thee; 
Years  but  color  yet  more  deftly 

The  vision  on  the  stair. 

— Kennedy  Furlong  Rubert. 


ARBUTUS.  115 

SHE  FOOLED  HIM; 

LJ  E  was  a  gay  young  deceiver, 
She  was  a  simple  believer; 

His  time  to  beguile 

He'd  fool  her  a  while, 
And  then  he  would  suddenly  leave  her. 

He  wrote  her  a  nice  little  letter, 

As  a  matter  of  course  he  knew  better; 

Not  stopping  to  think 

He  confided  to  ink 
The  expressions  which  forged  him  a  fetter. 

When  at  last  he  was  ready  to  shake  her, 
Elsewhere  to  play  as  a  fakir; 

But  the  letter  in  court, 

Cut  the  matter  quite  short, 
It  was  ten  thousand  dollars,  or  take  her. 

—John  Kneeland  Garnsey 


ARBUTUS. 

\X7HEN  early  Spring  from  Winter,  laughing,  leaps, 
'Neath  the  dead  leaves  the  sweet  Arbutus  creeps; 
These  withered  leaves  that  in  late  Autumn  died, 
Have  well  protected  April's  blushing  pride. 

So  'tis  in  life,  beneath  the  coldest  brow 
May  beat  a  heart  alive  to  friendship's  glow, 
And,  like  the  forest  flower,  is  beauty  found 
Deep  hidden,  'neath  the  leaves  that  strew  the  ground. 

— D.  S.  T. 


n6  CORNELL    VERSE. 


CREW  SONG. 

ANWARD,  like  the  swallow  going, 
^^^     Roused  is  every  nerve  and  sense. 
Oh,  the  wild  delight  of  knowing 

'Tis  our  power  that  does  the  rowing  ! 
Oh,  the  joy  of  life  intense  ! 

Rest  was  made  for  feebler  folk; 
Onward  !  make  her  cut  the  water, 

And  for  fame  of  Alma  Mater 

Stroke  !    Stroke  !    Stroke  ! 

Deep  we  drink  the  inspiration, 

Eager  zest  lights  up  each  face; 
Ecstacy  and  exultation 
Come  from  honest  emulation 

In  the  contest  and  the  race. 

Nerves  of  iron  and  hearts  of  oak, 
Under  eye  of  youths  and  maidens, 
Catch  the  ringing,  swinging  cadence — 

Stroke  !    Stroke  !    Stroke  ! 

Steady  now  !  let  no  distraction 

Slow  the  speed  of  oar  or  shell; 
All  in  unison  of  action 
Win  the  noble  satisfaction — 

Victory  for  old  Cornell ! 

Coolly  every  power  invoke. 
Do  not  break  in  sweep  or  "  feather," 
One  last  effort!    All  together! 
Steady!   old  Cornell  forever  ! 

Stroke  !    Stroke  !    Stroke  ! 

— Robert  J  a  mes  Kellogg. 


ALMA  MATER.  117 

AIvMA  MATER. 
COI^EGE  SONG. 
r\   ALMA  MATER,  name  we  loved 
When  life  was  young  and  free, 
And  buoyant  hope  not  yet  had  proved 

Time's  untried  mystery; 
Still  in  our  hearts  thine  image  lies, 
Nor  dim  thy  memory; 
Though  youth  be  past, 
While  life  shall  last 
We  still  shall  honor  thee  ! 

What  though  from  classic  halls  we  stray, 

And  miss  thine  influence  pure, 
The  riches  thou  didst  once  convey 

Forever  shall  endure  ! 
For  truest  wealth  is  youthful  heart 
When  hair  is  tinged  with  gray 
And  age  crowds  fast, 
With  frosty  blast, 
Our  steps  along  life's  way. 

Dear  Alma  Mater,  name  we  love 

With  untouched  constancy, 
May  all  thy  sons  full  grateful  prove, 

Nor  ceased  their  crowning  be  ! 
Ne'er,  ne'er  shall  we  forget  thy  fame, 
Whatever  lot  we  see; 
Till  manhood's  passed, 
While  life  shall  last, 
We  still  shall  honor  thee  ! 

— Alfred  Sidney  Johnson. 


n8  CORNELL    VERSE. 

AUTUMN. 
\X/HERE  Spring  her  verdant  mantle  threw, 

Now  lies  a  bed  of  brighter  hue; 
The  earth  by  spring  endowed  and  blest, 
Now  turns  in  Winter's  lap  to  rest. 

Where  sang  the  bird  in  early  morn, 
Now  sounds  the  hunter's  ringing  horn; 
The  deer,  pursued  by  horse  and  hound, 
Now  quivering  lies  on  the  cruel  ground. 

So  'tis  with  life,  by  God  instilled, 
With  hearty  strength  and  art  well-skilled; 
These  occupy  our  earlier  days; 
But  with  the  sun's  declining  rays, 

Comes  rest  for  work  done  well  and  long. 
The  soul  now  rests  in  tranquil  song, 
And  hears  the  angel  choir  repeat, 
"  Rest,  weary  soul,  at  God's  own  feet." 

—R.  S.  M. 


THE  LAST  SWEET  GLIMPSE. 
COR  many  a  long  and  active  year 

I  have  wandered  about  this  world  so  free, 
But  every  spot  seems  bleak  and  drear 

To  my  balm-blown  land  by  the  sunset  sea; 
But  if  you  are  kind  I  know  you'll  agree 

When  I  praise  above  all  that  home-sweet  place, 
For  there  I  saw — though  the  shadows  flee — . 
The  last  sweet  glimpse  of  my  mother's  face. 


A  DIFFERENCE.  119 

These  eastern  hills  I  much  revere, 

But  there  grows  on  their  slopes  no  gorgeous  tree, 
Like  those  that  shelter  the  spotted  deer, 

In  my  balm-blown  land  by  the  sunset  sea. 
For  memory's  hand  has  been  kindly  to  me, 

And  has  painted  a  picture  that  time  can't  erase; 
And  to  it  I'm  loyal,  for  above  it  I  see 

The  last  swTeet  glimpse  of  my  mother's  face. 

And  when  I'm  sad,  or  filled  with  fear, 

Or  w7eary  with  work,  or  failure  foresee, 
I  close  my  tired  eyes,  and  fly  swiftly  here 

To  my  balm-blown  land  by  the  sunset  sea. 
And  my  poor  heart  grows  happy,  and  dances  with  glee, 

And  thrills  'neath  the  pressure  of  loving  embrace, 
And  I  dream  of  that  parting  which  ne'er  more  shall  be: 

The  last  sweet  glimpse  of  my  mother's  face. 

— B.  D.   T. 


A  DIFFERENCE. 
'THE  sun  stole  a  kiss  from  the  rosebud  red, 

At  dawn  on  yesterday; 
The  rosebud  blushed,  she  hung  her  head, 
And  shame-faced  turned  away. 

And  I  stole  a  kiss  the  self-same  day 

'Neath  mistletoe  o'er  the  door; 
The  maiden  blushed,  but  I  am  sorry  to  say, 

I  fear  she  expected  more. 

-J.  R.  D. 


120  CORNELL    VERSE. 

THE  GAME  OF  LIFE. 

A  LONE,  but  for  my  thoughts  profound, 

An  after-dinner  weed  I  burn; 
'Tis  eve,  and  twilight  hovers  'round; 

I  hesitate  my  text  to  learn, 
Because  my  thoughts  do  forward  fly 
Into  the  future,  oh  !  so  high, 

When  I  must  reach  my  aim  or  fall, 
Unknown,  unnoticed,  shunned  by  all. 

Of  life's  great  game  I'm  thinking  now, 
Uncertain  yet,  to  win  or  lose; 

Will  Pluto  to  me  suppliant  bow, 
Or  I  to  him — which  shall  I  choose? 

My  college  days  will  soon  be  past; 

And  when  I  reach  that  time  at  last, 
Then,  forth  into  this  world  of  strife, 
I  go  to  play  the  game  of  life. 

Oh  !  shall  I  reach  ambition's  end, 

And  stand  on  high  the  Temple  Fame  ? 

Oh  !  can  I  all  my  wrongs  amend, 

And  bear  some  day  an  honored  name  ? 

Ye  prophet,  tell  me,  is  it  so — 

What  most  of  all  I  wish  to  know — 
Will  she,  my  sweetheart,  be  my  wife 
In  this  uncertain  game  of  life  ? 

Or  shall  I  lose  in  life's  great  game, 

And  downward  sink  in  Stygian  gloom, 

With  no  one  but  myself  to  blame  ? 
O  Fates,  is  this  indeed  my  doom? 


THE  MINSTREL'S  CURSE.  121 

Must  I  descend  in  dark  despair, 
Enticed  by  Bacchus  to  his  lair, 

Or  wooed  by  Com  us  to  his  fold, 

To  grow  in  vice  as  I  grow  old  ? 

I'm  thinking  of  this  game  to-night, 

Bach  hour's  a  play  on  toward  the  goal; 
Sometimes  its  wrong,  sometimes  its  right — 

An  awful  game  fought  o'er  my  soul; 
My  college  days  will  soon  be  past, 
And  when  I  reach  that  time  at  last, 

Then,  forth  into  this  world  of  strife, 

I  go  to  play  the  game  of  life. 

— Fred  Lezvis  Jones. 


THE  MINSTREL'S  CURSE. 
(From  the  German.) 

IN  olden  ages,  once,  there  stood  a  castle,  wondrous  fair; 
It  reared  its  towers  and  battlements  proudly  into  the 
air, 

And  round  about  were  gardens,  filled  with  flowers  of  per- 
fume sweet, 

Where  birds,  with  joyous  melody,  the  morning  sun  would 
greet. 

Within  its  walls  a  monarch,  stern  and  cruel,  held  regal 

sway, 
Who  kept  his  courtiers,  day  and  night,   in   terror   and 

dismay. 


122  CORNELL   VERSE. 

No  smile  e'er  crossed  his  countenance,  sullen  and  fierce 

his  mood; 
The  words  he  spake  were  flames  of  fire,  his  deeds  were 

writ  in  blood. 

One  day  unto  the  castle  fair,  two  minstrels  bent  their  way; 
The  one,  a  youth  with  golden  locks,  the  other  old  and 

gray. 
And  he  whose  hair  was  silver  white,  upon   a  horse  did 

ride, 
The  while  the  youth,  with  joyous  song,  ran  gaily  at  his 

side. 

Then  spake  the  aged  bard:  "  My  son,  our  journey's  end 

is  near; 
Bethink  thee  of  our  sweetest  songs,  of  sadness  and  of 

cheer, 
And  let  thy  voice  in  strongest  tones  of  joy  or  sorrow  ring, 
For  here  we  come  to-day,  to  move  the  stone  heart  of  the 

king." 

They  stand  within  the  spacious  hall,  before  the  monarch's 
throne, 

And  from  the  old  man's  harp  the  chords  ring  out  in  full- 
est tone; 

And  as  their  blended  voices  now  in  sweetest  anthem  rise 

And  fill  the  hall,  the  courtiers  all  are  bound  with  pleased 
surprise. 

They  sang  of  joy  and  sorrow,  they  sang  of  peace  and  strife; 
They  sang  of  all  that  sweetest  is  within  our  human  life; 
They  sang  of  sober  wisdom,  and  then  of  merry  jest; 
They  sang  ol  all  that  noble  is,  within  the  human  breast. 


THE  MINSTRELS  CURSE.  123 

The  monarch's  warriors,  who  oft  the  battlefield  have  trod, 
The  monarch's  flattering  courtiers,  too,  bow  at  the  praise 

of  God; 
The  noble  queen,  emotioned  by  the  songs  of  love  and 

truth, 
Took  from  her  breast  a  crimson  rose,  and  threw  it  to  the 

youth. 

Up  rose  the  king  in  anger,  and  cried:  u  Upon  my  life, 
My  subjects  ye've  perverted,  and  now  ye  would  have  my 

wife. 
Ha,  knaves!  for  this  dishonor  my  vengeance  ye  shall  feel!' 9 
And  deep  into  the  stripling's  heart  he  plunged  his  sword 

of  steel! 

And  while  the  throng  in  horror  stood,  nor  dared  to  utter 

sound, 
The  fair-haired  bard,  in  agony,  fell  dead  upon  the  ground. 
And  lo!  the  minstrel  old,  his  cloak  upon  the  youth  let 

fall; 
Then  took  the  corpse  up  in  his  arms,  and  with  it  left  the 

hall. 

He  paused  before  the  castle  gate,  and  threw  his  harp 
away; 

There,  at  his  feet,  upon  the  ground,  it  broke  and  shat- 
tered lay. 

One  more  sad  glance  upon  the  youth  he  cast,  in  deep 
despair, 

And  then,  with  hand  upraised,  he  cried  in  tones  that  clove 
the  air: 


124  CORNELL   VERSE. 

"Woe  unto   thee,   O  castle    fair!     Abode  of  death  and 

crime! 
No  more  within  thy  walls  may  song  or  laughing  music 

chime! 
May  thy  foundations  tremble,  thy  domes  and  spires  fall, 
Nor  leave  a  trace  to  mark  the  place  where  once  stoodst, 

withal! 

"Woe  unto  ye,  O  gardens,  and   ye  flowers  of  perfume 

rare! 
Ye  birds  whose  melodies  so  sweet  rise  on  the  morning 

air! 
No  more  shall   merry  sunshine  be   your  lot,  but  in  its 

stead 
May  Heaven   frown   upon  ye,  till  ye   withered  are  and 

dead. 

"Woe  unto  thee,  foul  murderer!  thou  curse  of  minstrelsy! 

Thy  reign  in  misery  shall  end,  thy  name  forgotten  be! 

And  while  thou  liv'st  may  war  and  strife  e'er  be  thy  sub- 
jects' doom, 

And  when  thou'rt  dead,  deep  may'st  thou  sink  into  ob- 
livion's tomb." 

Thus  spake  the  aged  minstrel,  and  Heaven  has  heard  his 
words; 

The  castle  walls  have  fallen  low,  dead  are  the  flowers  and 
birds. 

The  monarch's  praise  is  never  sung  in  merry  rhyme  or 
verse, 

His  name  hath  long  forgotten  been:  such  was  the  min- 
strel's curse. 

— Oscar  H.  Fernback. 


SHAKESPEARIAN.  125 


REPARTEE. 

THE  sun  and  moon  were  talking  once, — 

I  heard  them  one  fair  night, — 
When  of  each  other's  vicious  faults 
The  two  were  making  light: 

"You're  full!"  the  sun  spake  to  the  moon, 
"  Perchance  you've  too  much  wine  on." 

The  moon  replied,  "  Oh,  don't  you  talk, 
For  you've  a  great  old  shine  on." 

A  cloud  came  o'er  the  sun's  red  face, 

At  this  from  Heaven's  daughter. 
Then  out  he  spoke,  "  Well  you  get  full 

On  almost  your  last  quarter!" 

— Benjamin  Nathan. 


SHAKESPEARIAN. 


4  4  VES,  I  am  poor  and  thou  art  rich, 

Yet  I  sit  here,  my  arms  entwined 
About  thy  waist;  what  boots  it  dear?" 
"  My  father  boots  it,  you  will  find." 

— Benjamin  Nathan. 


126  CORNELL   VERSE. 

TO  A  BRUNETTE. 
VOU  may  sing  of  golden  hair, 

Laughing  eyes  of  blue  below, 
But  no  other's  half  so  fair 
As  a  maiden  that  I  know. 

Hair  of  brown  that's  almost  black; 

Eyes  of  tender  melting  brown 
Smiling  throw  their  glances  back ; 

She's  the  prettiest  girl  in  town. 

— R.  P.  Kelly. 


O 


DAWN. 

H,  my  love  has  come  out  of  the  East         . 
With  the  glory  of  dawn  on  her  brow, 
And  the  earth  is  alight  with  her  presence, 
The  earth  that  was  dark  until  now. 

For  the  sunbeams  are  caught  in  her  hair, 
Caught  in  meshes  more  golden  than  they; 

Like  some  sweet  haloed  saint  but  more  fair 
She  comes,  the  bright  herald  of  day. 

And  her  cheeks  how  they  glow  with  the  flush 
Of  the  first  faint  beginnings  of  day, 

Till  the  wild  rose  is  shamed  by  her  blush, 
And  the  lilies  are  pale  with  dismay. 

All  the  earth  stirs  to  meet  her  with  song, 
As  from  valley  to  valley  she  flies 

Every  bird  wakes  to  greet  her  and  strong 
Their  roundelays  of  welcome  arise. 


TO  MY  VALENTINE.  127 

Oh,  my  love  is  the  Lady  of  Dawn, 

Who  immortal  and  changeless  and  young 

In  her  glamour  and  glory  lives  on 
In  beauty  untold  and  unsung. 

And  my  heart  pays  the  vows  to  her  there, 
That  to  youth  and  to  beauty  belong, 

To  my  goddess  of  Dawn  who  is  fair 
Past  all  rapture  of  silence  or  song. 

—  W.  C.  Abbott. 


TO  MY  VALENTINE. 

A    LITTLE  bird  in  the  apple  tree 

Sang  this  morn  so  lustily 
In  the  golden  sunlight's  early  beams 
That  he  woke  me  from  my  slumbering  dreams. 
To  his  happy  mate  on  the  bough  above 
He  sang  sweet  songs  of  ardent  love; 
Told  her  how  when  she  was  near 
Earth  was  bright  and  life  more  dear: 
"  The  heavens  are  deep,"  he  whispered  low, 
"  But  no  deeper  than  my  love,  I  know." 
And  so  he  sang  his  songs  of  love 
Unto  his  mate  on  the  bough  above. 

Maid,  the  bird's  rare  song  so  sweet 
Let  me  now  to  thee  repeat, 
Let  the  bird's  sweet  song  be  mine, 
And  thou,  be  thou  my  Valentine. 

—/.  #.  Dyke,  Jr. 


128  CORNELL    VERSE. 


PINNING  HIS  FAITH. 

4  4  JV/l  Y  Valentine,  you'll  find  within 
"*    This  billet-doux,  a  Cornell  pin. 
But  do  not  think,"  remarked  the  wag, 
"  My  love  for  you  shall  everyftz^." 

-R.  P.  Kelly. 


THE  SONG  SHE  USED  TO  SING. 

\X7HAT  tender  strain, 

What  mellow  chords 
Are  those  I  hear 
Which  from  my  eyelids  drain 
The  solitary  tear  ? 
How  strange  it  is 
That  after  many  a  year 
The  passion  of  that  day 
Should  waken  in  my  heart 
The  ancient,  trembling  fear 
That  once  I  gave  full  play. 
What  wonder  then, 
When  linked  to  memories  dear, 
The  vsong  she  used  to  sing 
Comes  stealing  on  my  ear, 
Draws  tribute  to  forsaken  love 
In  this  solitary  tear. 

—Sidney  Ossoski. 


THA  T  LAST  S WEE T  NIGHT.  1 29 


THE  CORNELL  UNIFORM. 

t  i  TS  your  drill  uniform  a  fatigue  one,  my  son?" 

Thus  an  elderly  soldier  inquired; 
Came  the  answer  as  quick  as  a  shot  from  a  gun, 
"  Yes,  it  is — for  it  makes  us  all  tired  !  " 

— Benjamin  Nathan. 


THAT  LAST  SWEET  NIGHT. 

T^HAT  last  sweet  night,  while  softly  overhead 

The  bright  moon  shone  upon  us  as  we  sped 
Along  the  roads  made  silvery  by  its  light, 

I  sorrowed,  yet  was  happy  -  sad,  despite 
The  pleasure  that  her  presence  near  me  shed; 

Happy,  although  my  joy  was  nearly  dead, 
My  hope's  blue  sky  by  darkness  overspread. 

I  felt  a  sweet  yet  sorrowful  delight, 

That  last  sad  night. 


At  dawn,  the  while  the  east  grows  darkly  red, 
I  rise,  well  knowing  that  my  joy  is  dead, 

But  Time  shall  never  steal,  in  his  swift  flight, 
The  memory  of  her  face,  that  blessed  my  sight, 

Her  dear  voice,  and  the  low  words  she  said, 
That  last  sweet  night. 

— R,  P.  Kelly. 


i3o  CORNELL    VERSE, 

SHATTERED  HOPES, 
t  4  IV/l  AY  I  ask  you,  will  you  kindly 

Go  with  me  to  next  week's  hop?" 
And  his  heart  beat  long  and  blindly 

Beat  as  tho'  it  ne'er  would  stop, 
While  he  waited  all  expectant, 
Waited  for  her  "  yes  "  or  "  no." 

"  Oh,  I  thank  you, — should  be  pleased  to," 
And  his  heart  gave  joyous  bound, 

And  his  spirits  rose,  released  to 
Joy  and  ecstasy  new-found. 

"  But  " — her  next  words  brought  him  earthward, 
"But  with  Fred  I  said  I'd  go." 

— /.  R.  Dyke,  Jr. 


SHADOW  AND  SUNSHINE. 

CX&  the  sand  of  dark  and  gloomy  ocean 

^>^     Deep  in  thought  and  sad  I  stood,  a  youth 

With  doubting  thoughts  in  wild  commotion, 

And  watched  the  waves,  and  sorrowing  asked  for  truth. 
*'  Reigns  there  a  God  in  yon  blue  heaven  above  me, 

Is  there  truth  or  right  on  earth  below, 
Is  there  the  good  I  seek  so  vainly?" 

The  moaning,  sullen  waves  seemed  answering,  "No!" 

But  soon  the  sun  from  the  hills  behind  me 

Threw  of  his  rays  a  handful  at  my  feet; 
Then  the  aspen  leaves  lisped  kindly, 

And  the  birds  sang  joyous  songs  and  sweet, 


IN  SUMMER  TIME  A  T  ITHACA.         131 

The  leaves'  soft  whisperings  and  the  birds'  sweet  singing 
Told  me  that  their  God  still  reigned  above, 

And  all  the  sunbeams  good  were  bringing: 
In  my  heart  were  purest  joy  and  love. 

— /  R.  Dyke,  Jr. 


IN  SUMMER  TIME  AT  ITHACA. 

(Read  at  the  Washington-Cornell  Alumni  Dinner, 
March,  1891.) 

""THE  chimes  for  once  are  silent;  they  are  rusting  off  the 

key; 
The  grass  grows  on  the  campus  much  higher  than  one's 

knee; 
The  football  field  where  Upton  ran  is  overgrown  with 

weeds, 
And  lecture  halls  are  dusty  where  were  mounted  trusty 

steeds. 

The  doors  of  Sage  are  tightly  closed.     Ah  me!  how  sad 

the  plight! 
The  Sibley  shops  are  all  shut  down, — there's  no  electric 

light. 
The  Gym.  is  all  deserted,  the  tennis  nets  are  down; 
The  hill  is  beastly  lonesome,  but,  Lord!  you  should  see 

the  town! 

The  trains  run  once  a  week  and  the  grass  grows  in  the 

street, 
And  the  bums  are    growing  sober,  for  there's   no  one 

there  to  treat. 


i32  CORNELL   VERSE. 

The  shops  are  closed  at  three  o'clock,  and  frequently  at 

two, — 
The  owners  think  of  suicide  and  everybody's  blue. 

The  house  doors  all  stand  open  and  the  boarding  house  is 

still; 
Landladies  count  their  money  and  mourn  the  unpaid  bill. 
The  cops  are  all  asleep;  Zinckie  sadly  cleans  his  mugs, 
And  there's  nothing  going  on  but  the  summer  school  for 

bugs. 

The  cable  cars  have  stopped,  and  the  'busses  do  not  pass, 
For  Hymes   has  gone  a  fishing  and  his  stock   is  out  at 

grass. 
The  town  girls  mope  about  because  the  boys  are  all  away, 
And  there's  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  count  their  scalps  all 
day. 

A  momentary  life  breaks  out  when  the  circus  comes  to 

town, 
And   everybody,    young   and   old,   turns  out  to   see  the 

clown. 
The  country  people  all  drive  in,   and    for  a  few   short 

hours 
The   dead  alive   old   country   town    resumes    its    former 

powers. 

But  before  the  night  is  over  all  this  life  has  passed  away, 
And  naught  but  added  dust  remains  reminder  of  the  day. 
The  place  seems  still  more  lonesome  from  contrast  with 

the  crowd, 
And  e'en  the  cats  can  scarcely  muster  strength  to  yowl 

aloud. 


L  O  VE'S  HYPNO  TISM.  133 

If  you  walk  the  streets  industriously  you   may  meet  a 

man— or  two  ! 
But  the  town  is  so  deserted  that  you're  lucky  if  you  do; 
And  if  three  men  and  a  dog  or  so  were  met  on  a  single 

block, 
The    sight  would   be  so  strange  that  it  would  stop  the 

college  clock  ! 

The  atmosphere  of  all  the  place  is  restful  laziness; 
A  man  takes  half  a  day  to  walk  a  half-mile  or  less. 
Of  all  forsaken  places  on  this  terrestrial  ball, 
The  worst  of  them  is  Ithaca  'tween  Commencement  and 
the  fall ! 

— L.   O.  Hoivard. 


LOVE'S  HYPNOTISM. 

CHE  was  a  maid,  coquettish,  fair, 
^     Seated  before  him  in  a  chair; 

And  he  a  hypnotist. 
She  closed  her  eyes  at  his  command; 
Her  'witching  face  he  could  not  stand; 

Her  ruby  lips  he  kissed. 

Her  violet  eyes  she  opened  wide, 
He,  penitently,  at  her  side 

Knelt,  and  in  humble  tone — 
4 '  Can  you  forgive  me,  dear  ?' '  said  he. 
"  Hypnotize  me  again,"  said  she — 

And  he  knew  she  was  his  own. 


-S. 


134  CORNELL    VERSE. 

QUERIES. 

\X/HAT  did  the  Oxford  tie? 
*  *       What  did  the  Baltic  sea  ? 
How  did  the  diamond  dye  ? 
Where  can  the  honey  bee  ? 

When  did  the  canvas  sail  ? 

Why  did  the  cod-fish  ball  ? 
What  did  the  evening  mail  ? 

Whom  did  the  paver's  maul  ? 

Whom  did  the  railroad  track  ? 

What  did  the  Arctic  bear  ? 
What  did  the  carpet  tack  ? 

What  did  the  underwear  ? 

Who  heard  the  kitten's  tail? 

Whom  did  the  window  screen  ? 
What  did  the  shingle  nail  ? 

Who  thinks  the  Paris  green  ? 

Who  killed  the  idiot  who  wrote  the  above  ? 
And  what  did  he  get  for  that  work  of  love  ? 

—  Willie  Grey. 


AT  THE  GATE. 

A  BOVE  the  distant  height  the  moon  uplifts 

Her  great,  round  orb  and  sheds  a  flood  of  light 
Through  fleecy  clouds  with  silver  lined  rifts: 
I  linger  now  to  say  a  last  good-night. 


ART  A  T  CORNELL.  135 

One  moment  longer  in  the  dreamy  glow, 

Beside  the  silent  archway  we  await. 
She  softly  whispered  as  I  turned  to  go, 

"  We  part  to  meet  to-morrow — at  the  gate." 

Oh  thou  drear  angel  of  the  longer  sleep, 

Why  hast  thou  hushed  to  silence  as  thine  own 

That  dearer  self?  I  lonely  vigil  keep 

Beside  the  form  whence  life  and  light  have  flown. 

I  look  upon  her  in  my  mute  despair, 

And  ask  "  Wilt  thou  await  me  through  the  flight 
Of  all  the  years  that  I  thy  loss  must  bear, 

And  at  the  Gate  of  Silence  keep  thy  plight?" 

—H.  E.  Millholen. 


ART  AT  CORNELL. 

u  AT  home  from  Cornell  ? 

Your  health  very  well  ?" 
Thus  her  questions  his  relatives  starts. 
' '  What  course  ?  ' '     He  replies, 
With  tears  in  his  eyes, 
To  his  innocent  torturer,  "Arts." 

"  Indeed  !    Art  at  Cornell ! 

How  nice  !    Now  you'll  tell 
Me  what  branches  you  study,  I  trust. " 

He  swears  it  is  hard 

As  he  thinks  of  his  card 
"  Why, — a — chiefly  life's-sighs  and  the  bast." 

—  William  Courtney  Langdon,  Jr. 


136  CORNELL   VERSE. 


DRILL. 

T^HRBE  days  a  week  the  bugles  sound, 
*      Three  days  a  week  from  all  around 
The  skurrying  underclassmen  come 
Midst  sounds  of  music,  roll  of  drum. 

As  bugler  blows  the  last  few  notes, 

And  on  the  air  their  music  floats; 

Sharp  rings  the  sergeant's  cry  "  Fall  in," 

And  then  "  left  face  "  midst  scabbards'  din. 

Then  roll  is  called,  the  sergeant's  book 
And  pencil,  with  a  final  look, 
Are  put  awTay.     "  Count  Fours,"  he  cries; 
Along  the  line  the  answer  flies. 

A  moment,  death-like  silence  falls, 
Silence  ominous  that  appalls 
As  sergeant  to  the  breeze  unfolds 
The  nation's  standard  that  he  holds. 

"  Sound  off,"  the  leader's  order  conies — 
An  instant  and  the  roll  of  drums, 
A  moment  more  the  alignment  made 
As  one  thing  that  command  is  swayed. 

"  Present  arms,"  the  adjutant  cries, 
"  Carry,"  "  Order,"  to  the  skies 
The  trembling  ether  bears  the  ring 
Of  rattling  muskets  answering. 


'TWAS  LENT.  137 

Such  is  the  poetry  of  drill; 
But  classmen  love  and  ever  will 
Far  best  of  all  commands  or  call, 
The  words,  "  Break  Ranks,"  from  sergeants  fall. 
— Kennedy  Furlong  Rubert. 


THE  WEAKER  SEX. 

CO  well  she  argued  woman's  right, 

So  fair  she  was,  and  too,  so  bright. 
I  often  passed  a  pleasant  hour 
In  testing  the  sweet  maiden's  power. 

1 '  If  then  the  men  you  equal  quite 
And  to  the  polls  should  have  a  right, 
Why  are  the  women  called,"  quoth  I, 
"The  weaker  sex?"  she  made  reply: 

"  When  in  a  general  term  we  speak 

We  picture  all  mankind  as  weak; 

When  to  the  sexes  we  refer, 

We  have  to  say,  '  weak-him,'  '  weak-'er.'  " 

— Frances  Boardman. 


'TWAS  LENT. 

I  WOOED  a  maiden,  young  and  sweet, 

In  mid-Lent's  dullest  part; 
I  threw  myself  at  her  dear  feet, 
And  asked  her  for  her  heart. 


138  CORNELL   VERSE. 

She  smiled  and  arched  her  lovely  brow, 

And  said,  quite  innocent, 
"  I  cannot  give  my  heart  just  now, 

Because,  you  see,  'tis  Lenty 

— H.  B.  Crissey. 


A  FAIR  CORNEIvUAN. 

A  LONG  the  road,  by  willow  trees, 

Beneath  a  summer  sun, 
By  fields,  where  fragrant  heaps  of  hay 
Had  turned  the  emerald,  dun. 

Sat  Sunshine  in  the  phseton, 

And  talked  and  laughed  with  me; 

As  we  drove  on,  to  the  College  town, 
While  birds  sang  merrily. 

"  Is't  Hamilton's  pink,  or  Yale's  true  blue, 

Or  Union's  garnet  blaze, 
You  love  the  most  and  praise  the  most?" 

—I  watched  the  changing  gaze. 

Fair  Harvard's  crimson  filled  her  cheeks; 

Her  eyelids  quickly  fell; 
And  still  remained  the  tell-tale  hue — 

The  carnelian  of  Cornell! 

No  need  to  speak  her  loyalty, 

No  need  its  cause  to  tell ; 
Yet  softly,  half  unconsciously, 

She  said,  "  I  love  Cornell." 


SHE  KNEW  THE  GRIP.  139 

Then  some  Cornellian  may  be  proud, 

With  fondest  heart  to  claim 
The  loyalty  with  which  she  told 

His  Alma  Mater's  name! 

—R. 


SHE  KNEW  THE  GRIP. 

'"THEY  stood  a  moment  at  the  gate, 

A  maiden  fair  was  she, 
A  Junior  he,  and  there  though  late, 
They  talked  fraternity. 

11  And  so  you  think  that  no  one  knows 

So  strong  the  ties  are  bound, 
And  that  the  members  ne'er  disclose 

The  secrets  deep,  profound?" 

"  I^earn  your  mistake,"  she  laughing  cried, 

"  I  know  the  grip  of  each." 
"I  think,"  the  Junior  slow  replied, 

11  There  is  one  I  could  teach. 

"The  Sigma  Nu  it  is,"  he  said, 

And  yielding  then  at  last, 
That  he  should  teach  it  her  he  caught 

And  held  her  fair  form  fast. 

She  pouted,  blushed,  and  finally  said, 

As  from  his  grasp  did  slip, 
"I  think  'twas  very  mean  of  you, 

But  then — I've  learned  the  grip." 

—Ghost, 


140  CORNELL    VERSE. 

'TIS  POLICY,  YOU  KNOW. 
IT  was  in  the  cozy  parlor, 

By  the  fireside's  ruddy  glow, 
That  he  asked  her,  earnest,  low, 

"  Mary,  tell  me  why  you  treat  me  so?" 
Answered  maiden,  coy  and  fickle: 
"Oh,  'tis  policy,  you  know." 

"  Should  I  ask  you  then  to  give  me 

Just  one  light  and  playful  kiss, 
To  prove  to  me  that  you  love  me, 

Would  you,  now,  refuse  me  this?" 
Answered  maiden,  coy  and  fickle: 

"  It  isn't  policy  to  kiss." 

"  Should  I  ask  you  then  to  marry 

Me  your  lover,  humble  slave, 
Would  you,  would  you  then  refuse  me  ? 

Oh,  tell  me  ere  I  leave." 
Thought  the  maiden,  coy  and  fickle, 
To  refuse  past  five-and-twenty  is  not  policy  I  know, 

And  she  answered:  "No,  my  darling,  no!" 

— Anon. 


A  WORD  OF  ADVICE. 
VOUNG  man,  are  you  in  earnest,  quite, 

And  mean  to  strive  with  soul  and  might 
Never  to  swerve,  through  fear  or  doubt, 
From  this  the  work  that  you're  about  ? 
Then  note  from  me  a  word  or  two, 
Which,  heeded,  you  will  never  rue. 


A   WORD  OF  ADVICE.  141 

In  setting  forth,  without  delay, 
Mark  out  your  course,  make  clear  your  way, 
Heed  not  the  quibbling  of  the  throng; 
The  goal  in  view  cannot  be  wrong. 
The  world  and  all  its  goods  are  yours, 
Save  what  some  other  hand  secures; 
Then  know  that  ina  "  strong  right  arm  " 
Is  wealth  far  greater  than  a  u  farm." 

In  all  you  say  and  all  you  do, 

Be  bold,  be  resolute,  be  true. 

Where  honor  bids,  direct  your  course, 

And  bear  what  comes  without  remorse. 

Honor,  you  know's  a  long-necked  steed; 

Though  slow  at  first,  he's  "bound  "  to  lead, 

With  stronger  "  wind  "  and  surer  feet, 

All  jockeys  on  the  closing  heat; 

And  that's  the  turn  you  want  to  win, 

No  matter  how  the  race  begin. 

And  now,  Sir,  to  conclude  my  rhyme, 

Without  usurping  more  your  time, 

Permit  me  here  to  summarize, 

And  set  the  whole  before  your  eyes, 

In  forms  so  perfect  and  concise, 

That  you'll  ne'er  think  it  otherwise 

Than — which  it  is— the  rarest  prize 

You  ere  possessed.     So  here  it  lies 

In  just  four  lines  to  memorize: — 

Protect  your  fame,  for  every  mar 

However  trivial,  leaves  a  scar; 

First — serve  it  zealously  and  true, 

And  in  due  time  'twill  work  for  you.        — Anon. 


142  CORNELL   VERSE. 


FAREWELL. 

AWAY,  away,  no  more  delay! 

Arouse  the  engines,  spread  the  sail! 
Too  willingly  the  tears  are  starting, 
Too  great  the  pain  and  strain  of  parting, 
Regrets  and  sighs  of  what  avail ! 

Farewell,  farewell,  the  billows  swell, 
And  curl,  and  break,  and  foam  below. 

Onward  the  ship  is  swiftly  speeding; 

The  shores  behind  are  fast  receding, 
Tinged  with  the  sunset's  dying  glow. 

And  though  we  yearn  and  fain  would  turn 
The  homeward  track  again  to  seek, 

True  friends  will  still  abide  as  ever, 

Such  ties  the  ocean  cannot  sever, 
For  this  it's  power  is  all  too  weak. 

And  so  we  trust,  since  part  we  must, 

The  months  of  absence,  circling  round, 
Will  bring  ere  long  a  gladsome  greeting, 
Will  but  enhance  the  joy  of  meeting, 

When  friend  with  friend  once  more  is  found. 

— Anon. 

THE  SOPHOMORE  AT  THE  BRIDGE. 

'"THE  Sophomore's  brow  was  sad,  and  the  Sophomore's 

speech  was  still, 
And  darkly  looked  he  at  the  bridge,  and  darkly  up  the 

hill, 


THE  SOPHOMORE  AT  THE  BRIDGE.     143 

14  The  cops  will  be  upon  us  before  the  bridge  goes  down; 
And  if  we  do  not  fell  the  bridge,  what  hope  to  gain  re- 
nown ?" 

Then  out  spoke  a  brave  Senior,  a  man  most  blessed  bv 

fate, 
"  To  every  man  upon  this  hill  death  cometh,  soon  or  late. 
Hew   down  the    bridge,   Sir   Sophomores,  with   all   the 

speed  ye  may, 
I,  with  two  more  to  help  me,  will  keep  the  cops  at  bay. " 

Then  all  Cornellia's  noblest  felt  their  hearts  fill  with  gall, 
And  straightway  at  the  timbers  they  struggled  one  and  all. 
From  the  silent  hour   of   midnight   till   the   clock   was 

striking  two, 
The  old  bridge  creaked  and  trembled  with  very  much 

ado. 

But  while  the  dusky  creatures  with  axe  and  lever  plied, 
There  appeared  one  among  them  who  his  features  tried 

to  hide; 
And  as  he  walked  among  them,  took  out  a  little  book 
And  quietly  put  down  the  names  of  those  he  knew  by 

look. 

Then  the  students  waxed  angry,  and  fell  upon  the  man, 
(For  they  hate  the  rebel  traitor  who  will  give  away  his 

clan), 
And  hard  enough  they  kicked  him  to  make  his  blood  run 

chill 
But  that  didn't  in  the  least  prevent  his  getting  up  the 

hill. 


144  CORNELL    VERSE. 

But  now  the  bridge  hangs  tottering  above  the  glen  below, 
And  all,  save  one  lone  creature,  were  swaying  to  and  fro — 
Their  hands  upon  the  rope  to  pull  the  structure  o'er; 
But  this  one  lone,  still  figure   stood   muttering  on  the 
shore. 

But  as  the  "  Heave,  Oh,  Heave  !"  came  from  the  depths 
beneath, 

From  this  one  lone,  still  figure  through  the  circle  of  his 
teeth, 

There  gently  wafted  downward  in  deep,  Shakesperean 
tones, 

vSome  words  that  sounded  much  like  ' '  Wretched  Vaga- 
bonds !" 

Then  with  a  crash  like  thunder  fell  every  loosened  board, 
Not  only  all  the  beams  but  the  planks  with  which  'twas 

floored. 
And  a  long  shout  of  triumph  arose  from  either  side, 
And  then  they  all  skedaddled— their  bodies  for  to  hide. 

— Anon. 


WOMAN. 

A  UTUMN'S  gay  foliage  in  color  may  vie, 
The  woodland  may  garland  the  river, 
Charms  may  enchant  us  from  Sol's  tinted  sky, 
They  equal  to  woman  ?  Oh  never  ! 

Man  'mid  the  gloom  of  monastic  seclusion 
Pants  out  the  day  on  some  picturesque  height, 

Dreaming  of  worlds  in  his  frailty's  delusion; 
Longing  for  woman,  the  earth's  greatest  light. 


SWEET  CHIMES  OF  CORNELL.  145 

Lightly  she  trips  in  the  sunshine  of  morning, 
Modestly  forth  in  her  robes  of  pure  white; 

The  garden,  the  lawn,  and  the  household  adorning, 
Leading  the  weak  and  tempering  the  might. 

When  nature's  asleep,  when  night  birds  are  calling, 

Lonely  she  sits  by  the  dying  fireside, 
While  down  her  cheeks  the  tear-drops  are  falling, 

Trickling  like  the  slow  ebbing  tide. 

If  man  would  but  credit  the  old  Bible  story, 

Handed  to  him  by  the  angels  above, 
That  God  is  but  love  in  omnipotent  glory, 

Then  woman  is  God,  for  woman  is  love. 

I  speak  not  of  those  whose  smile  is  deceiving, 
But  blossoms  of  nature,  whose  presence  I  feel 

Lifting  my  spirit,  niy  faint  heart  relieving, 
Not  the  sophistical,  but  the  ideal. 

—  C/ias.  E.  Countryman . 


vSWEET  CHIMES  OF  CORNELL. 

C  WEET  chimes  of  Cornell,  I  remember  you  well, 

As  oft  on  my  ear  your  gay  greeting  fell; 
Now  merrily  pealing,  now  soothingly  stealing, 
With  rhythmical  cadence  or  sonorous  swell. 

From  afar  on  the  hill,  through  the  air  soft  and  still, 
With  musical  voicings  the  spirit  you  fill; 

Floating  over  the  valley,  with  far  echoes  dally, 
And  touch  the  calm  lake  with  a  tremulous  thrill. 


146  CORNELL   VERSE. 

How  exultant  and  gay,  with  a  jubilant  play, 

Have  you  clamored  forth  welcomes  on  many  a  day, 

When  laurels  home  bringing,  with  shout  and  with  singing, 
The  sons  of  Cornell  have  honored  her  sway  ! 

And  solemn  and  slow,  with  resonant  blow, 

You  have  tolled  the  sad  knell  for  revered  ones  laid  low; 
For  the  loved  most  sincerely  and  the  prized  most  dearly, 

The  noblest  and  best,  and  the  soonest  to  go. 

O  chimes  of  Cornell,  what  wonderful  spell 

Have  you  wrought  in  my  senses  to  love  you  so  well  ? 

For  oft  in  my  dreaming,  with  strange  subtle  seeming, 
I  hear  from  afar  the  sweet  chimes  of  Cornell  ! 

— Eleanor  Gray. 


THE  RETURN. 
•"THROUGH  all  the  sunny  summer  days, 

We  strayed  through  winding  woodland  ways, 
Or  seated  by  some  prattling  brook 
Read  Nature's  secrets  from  a  book 

Not  conned  like  Greek  or  Latin. 
We  breathed  the  scent  of  new-mown  hay, 
Cool  passing  winds  from  far  away, 
Bore  murmuring  music  to  our  ears — 
It  may  have  been  of  joy  or  tears, 

Of  vesper  or  of  matin. 

The  rugged  pillars  of  the  sky 
Wrought  in  us  of  immensity; 
The  moon  above  the  tranquil  deep, 
The  breaking  waves  that  never  sleep, 
Moved  us  to  pleasant  dreaming. 


"TELL  ME,  MAIDEN."  147 

And  friends  we  loved  were  by  our  side, 
Who  watched  with  us  the  changing  tide, 
Or  shifting  clouds,  or  storm-wrapt  heights, 
And  eagerly  we  sought — poor  wights — 

To  read  their  mystic  meaning. 
But  now  September's  drooping  leaves, 
The  naked  fields,  the  piled-up  sheaves 
The  empty  nest  of  summer  bird, 
Withal,  th'  authoritative  word, 

Recall  us  to  our  duty. 
With  treasure  trove  of  summer  lore, 
Rich,  tingling  blood,  health's  goodly  store, 
We  dust  the  old  tomes  on  our  shelves, 
And,  since  we  cannot  help  ourselves. 

We  seek  in  books  new  beauty. 

— C.  H.    T. 


4 1  nr; 


"TELL  MB,  MAIDEN." 
ELL  nie,  maiden  debonair, 

With  the  bright  cheeks  glowing, 
Are  the  scholars  all  so  fair 

Whither  thou  art  going?" 
Quick  she  turns  her  pretty  head, 

Lifts  her  lily  finger: 
"  Hark  !  I  hear  the  chimes,"  she  said, 
"  And  I  may  not  linger." 

"  Up  to  meet  the  mounting  sun, 
Who  are  these  that  follow — 

In  the  splendor  every  one 
Shining  like  Apollo  ?" 


148  CORNELL    VERSE. 

"All  Cornellians  !"  comes  the  cry, 

Hearts  in  voice  resounding; 
"All  Cornellians  !"  make  reply, 

Purple  hills  resounding. 

"  Wide  the  land,  and  wide  the  sea, 

Soon  are  comrades  parted. 
Shall  Cornell  remembered  be 

By  her  loyal-hearted  ?' ' 
"  Till  her  walls  in  dust  shall  lie, 

Till  her  hills  shall  sever  ! 
Alma  Mater  till  we  die — 

Old  Cornell  forever  !" 

— Henry  Tyrrell. 


THE  BARGAIN. 

HTHE  coat  had  seen  hard  usage, 

The  buttons  were  worn  and  bent, 
The  wrists  of  the  sleeves  were  selvage, 
The  elbows  torn  and  rent. 

The  Junior,  still  and  thoughtful, 

Began  to  meditate 
On  this  coat  whose  age  was  doubtful, 

And  thus,  at  last,  he  spake: 

1 '  Old  rag,  my  love  for  you  is  strong; 
You've  served  me  well  and  served  me  long, 

For  this  I  am  very  grateful. 
We've  been  together  many  a  day; 
'Tis  cruel  now  to  send  you  away, 

A  friend  you  have  been  most  faithful. 


THE  BARGAIN.  149 

"  But  now  to  sell  you  I  must  try, 
My  funds  are  low,  my  bills  are  high, 

And  you'll  bring  me  much  welcome  chink. 
Some  innocent  Freshman  I  must  guy. 
Those  sergeants  should  bring  me  nigh 

Unto  two  dollars  extra,  I  think. 

"  Your  elbows  I'll  patch,  your  buttons  fix; 
A  Freshman  find  not  up  to  tricks 

Of  trade  in  soldier  coats. 
I'll  offer  you  for  dollars  nine, 
Throw  in  the  cap  and  stripes  so  fine 

For  two  five  dollar  notes." 

He  found  the  Freshman,  brought  him  in, 
And  sold  the  coat  (it  was  no  sin  !) 

For  double  the  price  he  paid. 
He  pleased  the  youth  and  made  him  vain, 
And  seemed  to  have  no  thoughts  of  gain — 

The  Freshman  was  not  afraid. 

Now,  vanity  did  the  poor  lad  blind, 
Though  many  defects  were  easy  to  find, 

He  saw  not  one,  nor  any  fault  found. 
The  pretty  blue  coat  and  buttons  of  brass, 
The  stripes  of  red,  all  had,  alas ! 

His  head  completely  turned  'round. 

And  glorious  visions  militaire, 
Visions  of  such  castles  in  the  air 

As  Freshmen  often  build, 
Made  him  regardless  of  his  cash, 
Caused  him  to  be  a  little  rash; 

Alas,  he'd  never  drilled  !  — Max. 


i5o  CORNELL    VERSE. 


FALLEN  LEAVES. 

'"THE  summer's  smiles  had  passed  away, 
The  summer's  suns  had  gone  to  rest, 
The  early  autumn,  brown  and  gray, 
Had  breathed  o'er  hills  thro'  night  and  day 
A  loving  incense  heavenly  blest. 


The  trees  so  lately  green  and  fair 

As  silent  watchers  now  do  stand. 
No  more  the  birds  do  gather  there 
To  seek  protecting  friends — now  bare 
Of  all  those  blessings — nature's  hand: — 
But  lonely  still  the  sent'nels  stand. 

The  whispering  breezes  come  and  go 
With  sighing  for  the  by-gone  days, 
Thro'  leafless  branches  to  and  fro 
Where  birdling-notes  so  sweet  and  low 
Sang  out  the  songs  of  summer  days. 

The  brook  that  'neath  the  summer  sun 
Did  sparkle  'long  its  shadowy  way, 

Now  as  wanderer,  hushed  and  dumb, 

Counting  all  days  as  but  one, 
Faintly  smiles  and  seems  to  say, 
"  Spring  will  come  again  some  day." 

— Aloha. 


A  T  NIGHT.  151 


AT  NIGHT. 

r*  OOD-NIGHT  !  those  simple  words  that  fall 

So  often  from  our  careless  lips — 
And  yet  they  hold  a  charm  for  all; 

Our  dream  into  the  future  dips 
Finding  a  fair  land  of  delight — 
Good-night ! 


How  soft  is  the  "  good-night  "  said, 
Some  summer  eve  of  joyous  June  ! 

Low  droops  the  maiden's  rose-crowned  head: 
"  Good-night — but  must  you  go  so  soon  ?  " 

Oh,  golden  hour  !  Oh,  love's  delight  ! 
Good-night ! 

We  vSay  good-night  to  the  little  ones 
Whose  trustful  eyes  have  tired  grown; 

Ah,  dimpled  daughters  !  Darling  sons  ! 
How  tender  is  the  wistful  tone 

That  wishes  all  your  future  bright  ! 
Good-night ! 

Then,  faintly  breathed,  the  last  "good- night,' 
That  comes  before  the  dreamless  sleep; 

It  falls  upon  us  like  the  blight 
Of  cruel  frost.     Alone  we  weep 

For  vanished  love  and  lost  delight. 
Good-night ! 


152  CORNELL    VERSE. 

Courage  !  dear  heart,  the  day  is  brief — 

Soon  to  us  comes  an  evening  hour 
In  which  we  say  "  good-night  "  to  grief, 

And  threatening  clouds  no  longer  lower. 
All  glorious  is  the  sunset's  light  ! 
Good-night ! 

— May  Preston, 


MY  LANDLADY'S  BILL. 

CHE  brought  in  her  bill— 
^     "  This  bill  must  be  paid  !" 
I  could  pay  it,  but  still 

(I  explained)  I  could  ill 
Break  a  date  I  had  made, 

She  brought  in  her  Bill; 
Her  bill  was  soon  paid. 


TO  MY  LANDLADY. 

(After  Rudyard  Kipling.) 
T   HAVE  eaten  your  beans  and  your  prunes, 

I  have  chewed  your  sausage  and  hash, 
With  a  fiendish  swoop  I  have  swallowed  your  soup, 
And  potatoes  that  would  not  mash. 

Was  there  aught  that  I  did  not  swipe 

Of  pickles,  or  fruit,  or  cheese  ? 
One  piece  of  cake  that  I  did  not  fake, 

One  olive  I  did  not  seize  ? 


THE  ITHACA  GIRL. 

I  gave  you  a  check  on  the  bank, 
Yet  you  seemed  convulsed  with  mirth, 

And  my  trunk  you  held  with  a  wisdom  of  eld, 
For  you  knew  what  the  check  was  worth. 


153 


THE   ITHACA  GIRL. 
/^\H!  the  Ithaca  girl  is  a  gay  young  girl, 

Oh!  a  gay  young  girl  is  she; 
She  loves  a  dance,  or  a  play,  or  a  drive, 
Any  kind  of  a  jamboree. 

'Tis  ever  thus  in  a  college  town; 

Oh!  the  girls  they  will  be  gay; 
For  the  students  are  such  fly  young  men, 

Such  fly  young  men  are  they. 

Now  the  Ithaca  girl  is  a  joyous  girl 

Till  the  winter  term's  begun, 
For  all  the  fall  her  student  boy 

Blows  much  of  his  father's  mon. 

But  alack!  and  alas!  for  the  Ithaca  girl, 
In  the  winter  she's  thrown  down; 

For  her  slippery  boy  to  the  Junior  Ball 
Takes  a  girl  from  out  of  town. 


C  AID  a  man  who  was  doing  Cornell, 
"  I'll  walk  through  this  beautiful  dell, 

But  a  small  piece  of  ice 

His  foot  did  entice, 
And  now  he  is  walking  in — Owego. 


154  CORNELL   VERSE. 

SPRING. 
MOW  bright  for  me  the  days  have  dawned, 

And  gay  my  heart  doth  leap, 
My  worry's  o'er,  and  in  the  night 

Most  peacefully  I  sleep. 
For  on  the  patches  in  my  pants 

No  mortal  eye  shall  frowm, 
They  will  be  fully  hidden  when 
I  wear  the  cap  and  gown. 


NATURALLY. 
T^HERE  was  a  man  in  our  town, 

And  this  man's  name  was  Ben; 
lie  once  picked  up  a  red  hot  iron 
And  laid  it  down  again. 


OUT  OF  SIGHT. 
CHE  shed  a  tear  upon  his  vest, 

The  effort  made  her  wince; 
The  vest  was  made  of  flannel 
And  he  hasn't  seen  it  since. 


REGRET. 
I N  days  gone  by  at  old  Cornell 

I  was  a  jolly  wight; 
The  hops  and  gay  cotillion  were 
My  pleasure  and  delight; 


FAILURE.  155 

To  dance  at  all  times  was  my  joy, 

But  best  I  liked  of  all 
To  trip  the  "  light  fantastic  "  at 

The  dear  old  Junior  Ball. 

Ah  me  !  those  happy  days  are  gone, 

My  college  joys  are  o'er; 
But  still  at  night,  with  measured  .step 

I  promenade  the  floor; 
And  deep  regret  for  Auld  Lang  Syne 

Steals  o'er  me  like  a  pall, 
When,  in  the  stillness  of  the  night, 

I  hear  my  "junior  "  bawl. 


FAILURE. 

J  CANNOT  draw  her  earnest,  smiling  face; 
Its  fair  and  fleet,  inimitable  grace 
Eludes  my  very  grasp,  whene'er  I  try, 
And  to  my  watching,  disappointed  eye 

There  shines  a  mocking  burlesque  in  its  place. 

Again  I  try,  but  yet  behold  no  trace 
Of  her  within  it,  so  again  efface 

My  work  and  echo  softly,  with  a  sigh, 
"  I  cannot  draw  !  " 

So  near  it  seems  !    And  yet  flees  apace, 
Beyond  my  grasp.     And  just  as  in  the  chase 
The  game  we  want  will  all  our  snares  defy, 
So  here  must  I  confess  resignedly 
That  elusive  queen  to  match  my  brace 
I  cannot  draw. 


156  CORNELL    VERSE. 

C  AID  an  innocent  looking  veal  TI, 
As  slowly  it  heaved  a  big  f, 
If  only  they  N 
That  this  veal  once  did  M 

The  boarders  it  would  horri-4> 


C  AID  the  turkey  to  the  spoon 

4 '  I  wish  that  I  could  hide, 
For,  though  I'm  dressed  quite  '  a.  la  mode,' 
My  dressing  is  inside." 


D1 


QUERY. 
|ID  you  ever  notice  this: 
When  a  fellow  steals  a  kiss 
From  a  righteous  little  maiden,  calm  and  meek. 
How  her  scriptural  training  shows 
In  not  turning  up  her  nose, 
But  in  simply  turning  round  the  other  cheek? 


BROKEN  UP. 
t  4  \  A/ ERE  you  calm  and  collected  at  Bull  Run  P'1 

Asked  a  maiden  of  Captain  Moran; 
M  Yes,  exceedingly  calm,  I  assure  you," 
Replied  the  gallant  old  man. 

"  But  with  an  ear  buried  under  a  hay-stack, 

And  a  leg  just  over  the  wall, 
And  an  arm  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy, 

I  wasn't  collected  at  all." 


STRANGE,  BUT  TRUE.  157 


RATHER. 

DRONE  on  his  back  he  lay  in  the  gutter, 

Inch-deep  flowing  with  recent  rain, 
And  the  "  cop  "  that  "  pulled  "  him  heard  him  mutter, 
"  She's  put  damp  sheets  on  the  bed  again." 


STRANGE,  BUT  TRUE. 

LJE'D  never  seen  a  football  game, 

Nor  ever  baseball  played. 
He'd  never  been  to  Casey's, 
Nor  joined  a  "  gown  "  parade. 
He'd  never  gone  to  Renwick, 
Nor  spent  a  single  dime 
For  fare  upon  the  motor  car 
To  save  that  awful  climb. 
He'd  never  seen  the  coat  room 
Of  our  spacious  library, 
Nor  crossed  the  sacred  threshold 
Of  our  little  Y.  M.  C. 
He'd  never  joined  a  Curtis  Club, 
Nor  seen  a  co-ed  fair, 
And  never  heard  the  glorious  chimes 
Ring  out  upon  the  air. 
He  often  crossed  the  campus, 
Yet  he  never  saw  a  sign, 
For,  you  see,  he  graduated 
With  the  class  of  sixty-nine. 


158  CORNELL    VERSE. 

TABLE   D'HOTE. 
\A/E  were  gathered  round  the  table; 
Not  a  soul  had  dared  to  speak, 
Though  pie  was  burned  and  milk  was  turned, 
And  tea  was  passing  weak. 

Thus  in  silence  we  were  sitting, 

Thinking  sadly  of  our  ills, 
But  not  making  any  protest, 

For  we  hadn't  paid  our  bills. 


THE  MODERN  VERSION. 
\A/ITHIN  the  parlor  dark  they  sit 

Where  they  have  been  since  set  of  sun, 
Two  souls  with  but  one  easy  chair, 
Two  hearts  that  beat  as  one. 


ALSO  IN  THE  MORNING  AND  EVENING. 
fOW  doth  the  Master  of  the  Chimes 
Improve  each  noon-day  hour? 
By  grinding  out  the  same  old  tunes 
While  safe  within  the  tower. 


H< 


ALAS. 
J  SWORE  to  her  that  nothing  e'er 

Should  tear  me  from  her  side; 
But  as  I  spoke,  the  hammock  broke, 
And  then  she  knew  I  lied. 

— /.  E.  Goodman. 


GOLF  ON  CASCADILLA  FIELD.  159 

MIXED. 
'  T^IS  not  amiss  to  kiss  a  miss, 

But  'tis  a  miss  to  kiss  amiss — 
As  for  a  miss  to  kiss  a  miss — 
Far  more  amiss  to  miss  a  kiss. 

-/  C,  '97, 


N] 


GOLF  ON  CASCADILLA  FIELD. 
[EW  game, 
Great  snap, 
Hit  ball 
Little  tap. 

Follow  up 

As  before — 
Fewest  strokes, 

Largest  score. 

Ball  smaller 

Than  supposed, 
Strike  hard, 

Hit  toes  ! 

Try  again, 

Missed  s'more, 
Cussed  hard  ! 

Shins  sore. 

Sworn  off, 

Lost  cause, 
No  cinch, 

Thought  'twas. 

— Lee  Barker  Walton. 


160  CORNELL   VERSE. 

GOOD  EYE. 

t  6  DUT  look  at  me,"  the  young  man  said, 
D      "And  at  thy  side  I'll  be; 
For  thy  black  eyes  the  power  have 
To  draw  all  men  to  thee." 

Just  then  he  stepped  right  off  a  cliff 

To  certain  death  below, 
She  looked  at  him,  and  back  he  came; 

His  words  were  really  so. 

-H.\  >99. 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 

LI  E  knew  that  I  would  like  to  go, 

He  knew  it — never  fear; 
How  often  have  I  told  him  so 
And  wished  the  Senior  Ball  were  here. 

At  length  the  Senior  Ball  is  nigh; 

To-day  his  letter  came; 
To  read  it  almost  makes  me  cry — 

It  bears  my  sister's  name. 


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